


Sticks and Stones

by OutoftheBlueDreamer



Category: Men's Hockey RPF, The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Booker is trying his best, Booker | Sebastien le Livre-centric, Exiled Booker | Sebastien le Livre, How Do I Tag, Hurt Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Hurt/Comfort, I promise there is more hockey content coming, I'm Sorry, Loss of Immortality, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, What Booker does in exile, internalized ableism, no beta we die like lykon, this came to me in a dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:48:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29588169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OutoftheBlueDreamer/pseuds/OutoftheBlueDreamer
Summary: What happens if, during his exile, Booker moves to Canada and becomes a professional hockey player?He makes some unexpected friends, faces unexpected challenges, and questions whether he actually wants to return to his old life with the rest of the guard.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Everyone, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Max Domi, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nile Freeman, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Original Male Character
Comments: 51
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to be honest, I have no explanation for this fic. It started based on a dream I had one night and just took off from there. Sorry if characterizations get a bit ooc, I'm not incredibly familiar with hockey so please bear with me on the finer details. Please note: I have taken liberties to place hockey players on random teams in this fic, because it is set like 10-15 years in the future and, well, people get traded.  
> Also I am aware this scenario is incredibly unrealistic for many reasons but that's what makes it fun!
> 
> Please enjoy this absolutely ridiculous fic that I have grown to love while writing it.  
> Also FYI: I'm expecting this to end up being about 13-14 chapters roughly. So take that as you wish.

It didn’t take Booker long to decide where to go to spend his exile. He figured if he really wanted to avoid the others, he could just camp out somewhere in the Americas and they wouldn’t find him. After all, most of their missions kept them in Eurasia or Africa, so odds were good that they wouldn’t happen upon him by accident. 

And from there, well, Canada just made sense. He spoke both the languages, the country as a whole attracted less attention than the US, and they had some semblance of decent coffee. Although, he could do without it being absolutely freezing out most of the year. The more time he spent there, the more his wardrobe consisted of sweaters, scarves, and mittens. What he didn’t expect to fall in love with in his new country, was hockey. 

The sport had always seemed a bit ridiculous to Booker, as someone who had never even ice skated before. It wasn’t as familiar as football, which he had played plenty of back in Europe in his free time. And he couldn’t quite grasp why anyone would subject themselves to spending time in an intentionally cold building, regardless of the outside weather. But, he felt that to truly understand what it meant to be Canadian, even if it was just for a little while, he had to give it a chance.

Admittedly, he went into it assuming he would hate the sport, between the cold and the violence, but the thrill of figuring out how to skate convinced him otherwise. Not only did he not expect to like it, but he certainly never thought he’d be any good at it. But eventually, one of the other guys in his building saw him bringing his skates home one night and asked if he wanted to join their pick-up hockey game on the weekends, and, well, Booker had nothing better to do with his time.

A month later, he joined a local league at the suggestion of many of his acquaintances at the pick-up game. His weekend plans slowly turned into a part-time hobby, going to practices in the evenings and games on the weekends. He almost laughed when one of his teammates pointed out that there were going to be scouts at one of their games. So Booker just rolled his eyes and told Ben that he better not run off with some NHL agent when he’s not looking, because that would spell the beginning of the end for their team.

Booker managed to keep his head down and stay out of sight for a few years, but as he kept playing, he started gathering attention. So with great disappointment, he made the executive decision to move. So he packed up his things and made the move from Montreal to Toronto. As a precaution he had also changed his name from Simon Dowling to Christian le Livre, clinging to the last relevant bit of his French heritage that he had left. And now that he lived in a somewhat more reasonable climate, he took the liberty to shave his head and his beard, erasing any chance of being recognized as his former alias. When he figured he had been long forgotten by anyone of relevance, Booker sought out another local league, because he found the company and camaraderie of the team to be a nice change from his loneliness. 

From there, his life mellowed out again and he wasn’t too worried about getting caught by anyone doing something he wasn’t supposed to. So he didn’t really question it when his captain called him over to the bench during practice one night. 

“Chris, I’ve got someone here I want you to meet,” Buckley called over to him. Booker stepped off the ice and eyed the man in the suit in front of him.

“Christian le Livre, this is Marcus Brown.” Booker nodded and took off his glove to shake the man’s hand as Buck continued. “He’s a scout for the Toronto Maple Leafs.”

“Is that right?” Booker replied and glanced between the two of them. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Brown?”

“Well, aside from the obvious college prospects, sometimes some of us in the business like to branch out and see if anyone slipped through the cracks so to speak. We look for talent wherever we can find it and you have caught my attention,” Brown explained.

“Uh huh,” Booker eyed him warily, not at all convinced by the flattery.

“We want you to come down to the arena sometime and join us for practice. If you can keep up, which I don’t doubt you can, there might be a contract in it for you.”

Booker raised his eyebrows. Surely the man couldn’t be serious. But judging by the look in his eye and the expression on Buckley’s face next to him, he must have been. So, Booker made the second-most selfish decision of his life.

“Sounds like a deal. Just tell me where and when and I’ll be there.”

\----------------------------------------

And so, Booker made a name for himself in North America as Canada’s secret gem. The papers called him a diamond in the rough for getting signed out of seemingly nowhere, and then being able to back up all the talk once he got on the ice. He became one of the league’s leading scorers by the end of his first season and while he tried not to start any fights, he sure as hell finished them when the opportunity arose.

After his rookie season, he was traded here and there for a couple of seasons, until he was finally made an offer he couldn’t refuse to play for Vancouver on a 5-year contract. So he moved west and found a new place to call home and a team that quickly became his family, no matter how dysfunctional they were. The dynamics often reminded him a lot of his other family, thousands of miles away doing god-knows-what to god-knows-who and occasionally he was hit with a pang of homesickness. But he knew he had to stay away, that was the agreement. He still had another ninety years to go before he could go back, if he even wanted to at that point.

He was in his eighth season in the NHL when it happened. It was the middle of the third period and the game up until that point had been rough. They were losing 3-0 to the Senators and play was just getting uglier and uglier as the time ran down. Both of the Tkachuk brothers had already served majors for fighting. Booker had to admit, the constant chirping was even getting under his skin at this point. So when Trouba caught him with a high check from behind, Booker didn’t even hesitate to drop his gloves.

He could see the twisted grin light up Trouba’s face as he realized that he had another contender. The two of them circled for a moment before they both made their move at the same time. Booker swung a right uppercut as Trouba fired at the left side of his face repeatedly. But Booker was able to keep a shoulder up and block most of the shots. They each had one hand fisted in each others’ jerseys, keeping them within an arm's length of each other. Out of the corner of his eye, Booker saw the linesmen approaching and, well, he wasn’t done here. He started hammering back and knocked Trouba’s helmet clean off. He cracked a grin as his fist made contact with flesh instead of plastic for a change.

But the next thing he knew, his helmet was gone too and he heard more than felt the crunch of his nose breaking. He lost his balance as blood ran into his mouth and he fell back with Trouba on top of him. Booker let go in favor of shielding his head from any more blows and only relaxed when the linemen pulled Trouba off of him. He clambered back to his feet and scooped up his gloves and helmet as he was escorted to the penalty box. Booker nodded his thanks to the trainer that handed him a towel and began cleaning up his face. He ran his tongue over his teeth and was relieved to find them all still firmly in place.

The trainer offered to take a look at his nose but Booker waved him off, claiming it looked worse than it was. Although admittedly, it still hurt which was odd, as minor injuries usually dulled pretty quickly. He didn’t think much of it as he sat through his five minutes in the box and re-entered the game. He made it through a couple of plays before he realized that he was still struggling to breathe. Booker made it to the next line change and hopped over the boards before motioning over the trainer to take a look. Sure enough, ten minutes after the fight, his nose was still broken. It took everything in him not to laugh out loud when the trainer confirmed it.

Regardless of how shitty the rest of the game went, Booker left the arena that night looking rougher than he ever had in his exile, but nothing could have dimmed the smile on his face as he drove home that night. It was finally gone. He was free.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a "shit hits the fan" chapter and probably the most actually hockey-centric chapter of the fic.

Booker gave himself until the end of the week to think things over. He didn’t want to make any rash decisions, but at the same time, he knew how he wanted to handle his new discovery. Though he did feel a little bit guilty about withholding the information from the people that should probably be the first to know. So he started small and made a call to Copley, who picked up on the first ring.

“Please tell me you haven’t done anything particularly careless lately,” Copley answered with a sigh.

“Come on, Copley, don’t lie. I know you’ve missed our little chats,” Booker said as he paced in front of the windows of his apartment, looking out at the Vancouver skyline.

“Hardly,” Copley replied. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Booker?”

“I’ve got some news for you along with a request that you probably won’t like too much.”

“When do I ever enjoy your requests?” Copley muttered more to himself than to Booker. He could hear the other man typing away at a computer even now. “Let’s hear it then.”

Booker worried his bottom lip and sighed as he paced back and forth. “I…” His voice died in his throat and he suddenly found everything much more overwhelming now that he had to say it out loud. “I’m not immortal anymore. I stopped healing some time between Sunday afternoon’s practice and Tuesday night’s game.”

The line suddenly went silent. Booker waited a long moment before clearing his throat. “Copley? You still with me?”

“Yeah… Yes, sorry. I’m here.” Booker could picture the odd, pensive look on his face all the way from Vancouver. “Are you sure?”

Booker snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fairly sure. I broke my nose in a fight on Tuesday and it has now been five days and I still look like I took a puck to the face.”

“Well, that certainly changes things.”

Booker hesitated before asking quietly, “Does it really though?”

Now it was Copley’s turn to hesitate. “Of course it does, why wouldn’t it?”

Booker shrugged to himself and resumed pacing again. “Well, the way I figure it, I’ll die before my exile’s over and that way they won’t have to worry about whether or not a hundred years was sufficient when the time comes, since I’ll be long gone.”

“Booker, you must know that as soon as they find out, they’re going to want to talk to you,” Copley reasoned before pausing a moment. When he spoke again, his tone was much lower. “Unless…”

“Unless they don’t find out,” Booker finished for him with a nod. “That was the part I was fairly sure you wouldn’t be too happy about.”

“You honestly can’t expect me not to tell them, Sebastien.”

“It’s not your news to share, my friend. And besides, that’s one fewer immortal for you to have to keep track of,” Booker pointed out.

“That’s not how this works and you know it. If you died and they found out I knew you were in danger, they would all kill me.”

“I don’t think Quynh would, but yeah that’s certainly a risk with the others,” Booker agreed and sighed. “How about this, once I finish out my current contract, you give me six months to tell them. And if by the end of those six months I have not contacted you to let them know, then you’re free to do as you please.”

“And if something happens in the meantime?” Copley inquired.

“Unless I’m dead, you don’t get to tell them until after those six months.”

Copley considered it for a moment before sighing. “Fine. But try your best to stay out of trouble, alright?”

“Don’t I always?” Booker grinned as he flopped down on the sofa.

“Right, because having a go at Trouba at your age definitely counts as staying out of trouble,” Copley muttered under his breath.

Booker chuckled and shook his head. “He was looking to blow off some steam, it didn’t take much to provoke him.”

“Mmhmm, keep your hands to yourself, Booker.”

“Will do.” And with that Booker hung up, sinking into his couch and sighing. That conversation went about as well as it could have, all things considered. He was relieved that Copley didn’t just automatically shut him down. He still wasn’t confident that Copley would hold up his end of the deal, but Booker had no choice but to just take his word for it.

——————————————

Booker managed to finish out the season without causing any more of a commotion than usual. He spent most of the off season working out and reading, occasionally meeting up with some teammates for a night out. The only downside to come from his lost immortality so far was that he actually needed time to recover after skirmishes or pulled muscles. When he started getting sore after workouts, Marner and the Tkachuks took full advantage of the opportunity to poke fun at him for being the old man of the team and Booker could only laugh, because they didn’t know the half of it. 

He had to admit that continuing to play with his aging body was starting to wear on him, and he was grateful that he only had two seasons left of his contract. He knew his agent wouldn’t be pleased with him, but he was looking forward to being able to announce his retirement. But all those thoughts seemed to go into hibernation once the regular season started back up again, and Booker thought they genuinely had a chance at the Cup this year. 

Two-thirds of the way through the season, that thought seemed to be growing closer and closer to a reality. They had the best record in the league and Booker was on track to have his best season yet, having already broken his scoring records from all of his previous seasons. 

The team was admittedly getting cocky at this point in the season, but it was justified as far as Booker was concerned. He started placing bets among teammates on who would score first and the likelihood of any of them getting a hat trick, the latter of which in particular he had money riding on going into the game against the Maple Leafs. Late in the first period, he started liking his odds as he scored for a second time on a breakaway. 

By the time the second period came around, Booker was feeling on top of the world. They were winning by a fair lead and he could tell it was getting under the Leafs skin. But that wasn’t going to stop him from winning his bet with Marner. 

Booker climbed over the boards for the first line change after the puck drop that started the period and immediately saw an opening. Brady passed him the puck from across the ice and Booker took off for the net. Unfortunately the defense caught up with him, so Booker passed the puck around the back of the net as he approached the corner. With his head ducked down looking at the puck, Booker never saw Domi coming. 

He was shifting to change directions when he felt the check make contact with his back, driving him forward. All he had time to think was _too fast_ before he crashed headfirst into the boards and crumpled like a rag doll, knocked completely out cold. 

———————————————

“OH! And Domi just flattened le Livre in the corner behind the play and it looks like the Tkachuk boys are taking issue with that, folks!”

“There’s a full scrum behind the net now as the linemen and referees try to separate the teams. And in the meantime, the Book has not moved since he went down. He’s being tended to by the medical staff as we speak.”

“Let’s get a replay of that hit. Oh, god, you hate to see that. That’s a dangerous hit there and it is scary how quiet it is in the arena now as fans and players alike can only stand back and wait and hope that Christian le Livre is alright.”

“And it looks like medical is calling for a stretcher now and the Book’s teammates are making quick work of getting it to his side.”

———————————

When Booker started to come to, all he was aware of was how numb everything felt. He felt like he was floating, maybe in the clouds or in the ocean, but it was far too cold here for that. The next thing he registered was a voice echoing through his head. 

“Christian? Christian, can you hear me?”

He wanted to say yes, to nod his head and reassure whoever it was that yes, he could hear them, but it was like his brain had become disconnected from his mouth and he couldn’t convince it to form words. In frustration he blearily blinked open his eyes, only to want to snap them shut again by how bright everything was. 

“Christian?” The voice called again and this time he saw a face above his that was talking to him. The face registered as familiar but he couldn’t place it. 

“We’ve got eyes open,” another voice echoed somewhere off to his left.

“Christian if you can hear me, I need you to blink twice, okay?”

Right. That was him. He was Christian. At least for right now. So he forced his eyes closed and open, closed and then open again and quite frankly the effort it took to focus was exhausting. He just wanted to sleep. 

“Good work. You’re doing great, Book. Now do me a favor and wiggle your fingers for me?”

He frowned faintly at the odd request but did as he was told. In all honesty he couldn’t feel them move, but that was probably due to the cold. His fingers and toes always went numb in the cold. 

“Wiggle your fingers for me?” The voice asked again and Booker wanted to argue that he had just done that. But not wanting to cause a scene, he did it again. He let his eyes slide shut just for a moment to block out the lights again. 

There was a flurry of activity above him as the voices all whispered to one another and god he wished he could understand what they were saying. Next thing he knew there were hands holding his face and oh they felt so nice and warm. He hummed in contentment at the feeling, oblivious to the neck brace they were sliding into place. 

He must have spaced out for a bit because next time he opened his eyes, he was moving. He recognized the arena’s roof and glanced around sluggishly, noting his teammates skating alongside him and—huh that was weird. He was usually taller than Marner. And the Tkachuk brothers too, now that he thought about it. Why were they way up there while he was way down here?

But he couldn’t find it in himself to argue or even ask what this was all about. He was just. So. Tired. So he let his eyes shut again, saving him from the harsh lights above. In the back of his mind he registered the sound of applause and vaguely wondered who was cheering and who they were cheering for. Surely someone will know when he wakes up again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter introduces the true hero of this story.

His answer came almost two days later. When Booker woke up, the main thing he was focused on was the steady throb of his head. He gave himself a moment before peeking his eyes open and frowned. Everything was still a bit fuzzy, but he was fairly confident he didn’t recognize the room he was in. The walls were pale green and everything else was bright stark white. As he tried to look around the room, he found he couldn’t turn his head at all and he froze. That was new. He tried shifting his jaw and relaxed barely when he found he could move it, although it was limited by something pressing up against his chin. 

Off to his right, he heard a door open and he tensed on instinct. He could feel his breathing starting to pick up but he couldn’t help the panic starting to rise in his chest. The last time he’d been strapped down like this had been Merrick’s lab and quite frankly, Booker had no recollection of how he arrived here, so for all he knew he may have been captured again. The woman in scrubs appearing at his side did nothing to quell the fear that was threatening to choke him.

“Easy there, Christian,” the nurse said as she leaned closer. “Take a deep breath, you’re alright. Just deep breaths for me, okay?” She noisily inhaled then held her breath a moment before exhaling again. She did this a few times until Booker was breathing in time with her and then she rewarded him with a sunny smile.

“That’s better,” she said gently. “It’s good to see you awake, we were starting to wonder if you were just going to sleep the week away on us.”

Booker tried to keep up, he really did, but his brain felt like it was full of cotton balls. He just kind of stared at her for a moment as he let the words filter through. 

“What…” he croaked out and he winced at how wrecked his voice sounded. His throat was raw and his mouth was completely dry. He paused a moment before trying again. “What happened?”

The woman’s face softened in sympathy and Booker did not like that look one bit. She started to talk about his last game and something about a hit but Booker couldn’t follow. He sighed and interrupted her. “Do you speak French?”

She paused a moment like she wasn’t ready for a question so soon. She seemed uneasy at his request. “I speak Quebecois?” She offered. 

“Good enough. Could you switch please?” Booker spoke slowly and made an effort to enunciate his words, but even with the active effort he could feel his native accent edging into his voice. It was embarrassing, he hasn’t had to deal with that since the middle of the 19th century, at least. 

Blessedly, the girl was a bit less fluent in French than she was in English, which meant she slowed down her speaking pace a lot. Between that and the language change, Booker was able to keep up, more or less. He listened as she filled in the gaps of his memory, explaining the hit he took and the possible health concerns that came with it. 

He frowned as she confirmed his fear that this wasn’t just a rough hit to the head. She started explaining the damage done to his neck and his back and, well, he didn’t need any of Nicky’s medical degrees to know it didn’t sound too good.

“So, odds of me making it back for the post season are pretty low is what you’re saying,” Booker replied when she finished speaking. He glanced up and saw the slightly confused and panicked look on her face and he couldn’t help but breathe out a laugh. He offered her a tight smile and added, “that was a joke, you’re allowed to laugh. In fact, I’d encourage it, it’s fucking depressing in here and I’ve only been awake for what, an hour?”

When she still looked a bit shell-shocked, he sighed. “It’s alright, you don’t need to beat around the bush. I could follow enough to know I’m not getting back on the ice again.”

“I’m really sorry,” she started to say and Booker waved her off. He frowned at how clumsy and uncoordinated his hand was, but figured it was best not to put too much thought into it.

“Me too, kid. But hey, shit happens.” He didn’t bother waiting for a response to that before he blurted out the question that had been resting on his mind. “Is there any way I can make a phone call?”

“Yes, of course,” the nurse nodded and disappeared from his line of sight. “One of your teammates dropped off your bag while you were in surgery. He said they put your phone on airplane mode because it wouldn’t stop ringing.” Booker smirked at the thought. There were so few people he ever talked to on the phone, but he was willing to bet that he had texts waiting for him from at least half the teams in the league.

“If you could just find a number in my contacts for me and put it on speakerphone, I’d appreciate it,” he said as she reappeared with his phone in hand.

“Yeah, definitely,” she nodded earnestly and went to open his phone before pausing. “I’m going to need your password though, I promise I won’t tell it to anyone else.”

Booker gave a small laugh. “Trust me, the contents of that phone are nowhere near as exciting as people seem to think. The passcode is 2656 and the contact I need is…” he trailed off with a sigh, debating on if this was really his best move. But honestly, he couldn’t think of a better option and he had already lost what was left of his pride and dignity so he might as well just commit to his original plan.

“It’s saved under ‘Do not drunk text Daniel’,” he admitted with another long sigh. The nurse giggled at that and Booker couldn’t help a small smile. “Hey, we’ve all got that one ex that we’re still friends with.”

“I guess you’re right.” She nodded in agreement as she pulled up Daniel’s number. “Is there anything you need before I leave you to your call?”

“No, that is all for now. Thank you for your kindness, and your French,” he offered with a smile.

“Any time. My name is Andrea if you need anything else, alright?”

Booker faltered for a moment before swallowing the lump in his throat. “Andrea. That’s a beautiful name. I’ll do my best not to forget it.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back in a half hour to check in again,” She added as she set the phone on speakerphone and Booker could hear it beginning to ring. He gave her one last smile before she disappeared from view again, followed closely by the sound of the door closing behind her.

After a few moments, the phone rang out and disconnected after claiming the voicemail box was full. Booker cursed under his breath and paused a second. “Hey, Siri?” He waited for the ping of recognition and breathed a sigh of relief when he got it. God bless whoever came up with voice recognition. “Call ‘Do not drunk text Daniel’.”

This time, the phone picked up on the second ring. “Chris…?” The voice at the other end was disbelieving, but it was so warm and familiar that Booker just sank further back into his pillows and sighed.

“Hey, Danny,” he said, just loud enough to make sure that Danny could hear him. He hesitated barely before asking, “Am I interrupting anything?”

“No, Jesus, no, of course not, I just,” Danny stammered and there was some rustling from the other end of the line. “Just wasn’t expecting to hear from you, now…” he trailed off and Booker smirked at how flustered he sounded.

“I’m going to pretend that you didn’t just lie to me, but if you insist you’re not busy, would I be able to ask you a favor?”

“Can I ask why we’re speaking French first?” Daniel ventured.

“English was giving me a headache trying to figure it out right now,” Booker admitted quietly.

“Fair enough. I’d ask how you’re doing but, no offense, man, you sound terrible.”

Booker gave a breath of a laugh and smiled at that. “If you think I sound terrible, you should see how I look. I imagine it’s not much better.”

“I’m sure you’re just as devilishly handsome as ever, my friend,” he replied and Booker could picture the smile on his face. It was the same smile he got every time Booker kissed him goodbye on his way to the stadium for a game he was extra hyped up about.

“Would you like to find out for yourself?” Booker asked with some hesitation. There was a pause on the line and Booker wondered if he just shouldn’t have called Daniel at all.

“Is this you asking me to come see you then?” Danny asked carefully.

“Maybe…” Booker tried for nonchalance and missed it by a long shot. “Yes,” he admitted with a sigh. “Please? I’d very much like to not be alone right now,” he added belatedly.

“I’ll be there soon, okay? It’s going to take me a little bit ‘cause I’m coming from campus, but I promise I’m on my way,” Danny reassured him gently and Booker gave a sigh of relief.

“Thanks, Danny. I’ll let the nurse know you’re coming so they’ll let you in.”

“Sounds good, I’ll see you soon, Book.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? Emotional growth on Booker's part and learning how to ask for support when he needs it? Groundbreaking.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some lovely banter and a peek at what, or rather who, Booker has been doing since he moved to Vancouver.

Booker gave Andrea Danny’s full name and a rough description of him and she promised they’d let him in when he got there. Shortly after that he drifted to sleep, exhausted from having talked so much in his first few hours. Though, if he had to guess, Andrea gave him something that helped him along because he hadn’t felt all that drowsy before she came in to adjust his meds.

He woke up who knows how long later and sleepily blinked his eyes open. It was a bit darker than it had been before so it must be evening at the very least. The sound of a page turning next to him caught his attention. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Danny sitting all folded up in one of those cheap visitor’s chairs, reading a newspaper quietly.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he mumbled quietly and cracked a grin when he saw Danny jump at the sound.

“Jesus christ, Booker,” Danny let out with a shaky sigh and shot him a look. “I would like the record to show that if we were literally anywhere else, I’d hit you for that, and you would deserve it.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Booker conceded and just took a moment to look at Danny, who by now had shifted closer and more into his line of sight. “It really is good to see you,” he said softly.

Danny matched the soft smile that Booker hadn’t even realized had spread across his face. “It’s good to see you too, Book. Although did you have to almost kill yourself to get my attention?”

Booker snorted and rolled his eyes. “I want to say you’re wrong and that it wasn’t my fault, but I’m gonna be honest, I have no recollection of what happened, so you’re off the hook.”

Danny’s smile tightened and the corners of his eyes pinched slightly and Booker could tell he was holding something back.

“What?” Booker asked, watching him closely. “Go on, if you’ve got something to say, let it on out.”

“There’s no way you’re this okay with everything,” Danny declared. “You, who is stubborn as shit and one of the most restless people I know.” Booker paused to consider exactly how he was feeling about the prospect of possibly never standing, walking, or skating again.

He shrugged ever so slightly and cringed, immediately making a mental note not to do that again. “I dunno, maybe it just hasn’t hit me yet? I’m sure I’ll be insufferable soon enough.” Booker glanced back over to him with a faint smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you come back for that part.”

“Oh shut up,” Danny rolled his eyes. “You’re stuck with me for now. At least until you get sick of me.”

“Right, ‘cause that will happen.” Booker smirked slightly but didn’t push it. He knew that Danny would get sick of him and his piss poor attitude at some point or another and leave. And Booker would deserve it. Danny’s far too good for him and they had figured that out years ago after dating off and on for a couple of years when Booker had first arrived in Vancouver.

“You’re thinking too loud again,” Danny muttered and scribbled in an answer on what Booker could now see was the New York Times crossword.

“Well I’m sorry if I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly. What time is it?”

“Umm,” Danny grabbed his phone and checked. “7:10, why?”

“Want to put on the game?” Booker suggested as he glanced over at him. He might not be able to see the tv from his position but at the very least he could listen in and stay in the loop.

Danny hesitated and chewed his lip. Booker sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. “Save me whatever lecture you want to give me about if I’m sure that’s a good idea or if I’m ready for that yet or whatever. I just want to be able to keep up if I can’t be there.”

“It’s...it’s not that.” Danny said quietly as he shifted in his seat, setting down the paper and shifting closer to him again. “They, uh, they canceled tonight’s game.”

“What?” Booker strained to turn towards him minutely, frowning. “Why the hell would they do that? We were set to beat the shit out of the Oilers tonight.”

“Book, things have been pretty touch and go here the past day or two,” Danny said and gave him a look that was clearly supposed to mean something, but Booker just wasn’t picking it up. So he just stared and waited for him to continue. When Danny realized that Booker wasn’t catching on, he sighed and seemed to steel himself for the conversation they were undoubtedly about to have.

“The managers agreed to reschedule for the end of the season because they didn’t think it would be right to make your teammates play this week in case you died in the lead up to tonight’s game or during it.”

Booker opened his mouth, but no words came to mind so he closed it again. He chewed on his bottom lip as he considered the new information.

“To be fair, if I had witnessed that in person, I probably wouldn’t be able to get back on the ice for a month, at least,” Danny said with a shrug.

“Gee, thanks.”

“Has anyone shown you the footage yet? ‘Cause it wasn’t good, man,” he said a bit more quietly. He reached out and took Booker’s hand in his own. Booker relaxed at the contact and gave Danny’s hand a small squeeze. “I thought I watched you die that night,” Danny murmured and his voice caught.

Booker bit his lip and pulled Danny’s hand closer til it was resting lightly on his chest and gave it another squeeze. “But, you didn’t,” Booker said evenly. “Because I’m still here and I’m gonna be around to annoy the hell out of you for plenty of more years.” And he means it this time. Now that he’s aging, he won’t have to just disappear and move away anymore. He can just stay here, with Danny and his team and the city he has grown to love so much and he won’t have to leave them behind.

“Mmhmm, I’m counting on it.” Danny squeezed his hand back. They fell into a comfortable silence and Booker ran his thumb along the back of Danny’s hand. God how he missed the earlier years where they met up for date night in the suburbs where they could freely hold hands without attracting too much attention. 

He’d never been ashamed or embarrassed of his sexuality or relationships, but Booker never wanted to subject Danny to wandering cameras or over-eager fans. Plus to his knowledge there weren’t any openly queer hockey players in the league and he wasn’t looking to make history on that front. And he’s sure that if Joe or Nicky found out about his hidden relationships over the years, they wouldn’t be too proud of the way he’s handled them. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Danny said, interrupting his train of thought. Booker breathed out a small laugh. 

“Honestly? I was thinking about us. How we used to sneak around to those little cafes and bistros when I first moved here.”

“Mmmm,” Danny hummed. “That was fun. I miss those days.”

Booker snorted. “No, you don’t. You were having weekly meltdowns about your PhD back then and now you’re teaching your own courses.”

“Okay, fair. But I miss the us part,” Danny amended. “The dates and going to your games and the nights in…”

“And the sex,” Booker added with a grin.

“And the sex,” Danny agreed with a giggle even as his cheeks burned bright. 

Booker paused a moment, eyeing him carefully. “So I take it that things with…” He paused for a moment to fish for a name. “Peter? Didn’t work out?”

Danny smirked and shook his head. “That one was doomed from the start. And to make it worse, he was a Blackhawks fan.”

“A true sign of moral failure indeed,” Booker agreed solemnly.

“Mmhmm, couldn’t have that. And besides, our schedules were all over the place. He started work early in the morning and all my classes are in the afternoon and evening so we could only ever make weekends work and it all just got so boring.”

Booker shot him a look and Danny frowned. “What?”

“You were in class?”

“What do you mean?”

“When I called you today. You didn’t answer til the second call and you were frazzled and said you were on campus. Don’t you lie to me. Did you leave your own class?” Booker tried to hide his amusement but he couldn’t help the grin that was spreading across his face. 

Danny’s cheeks burned bright red and Booker had his answer. 

“Jesus Christ, Daniel, you could’ve waited until after class ended!”

“Right because I was going to ignore a call from your number this week.” Danny rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Plus you called twice, you wouldn’t have done that unless you really needed me and you know it.”

“Alright, fair enough.” Booker paused a moment and hesitated. “What time are your classes tomorrow…?”

“Doesn’t matter. They can manage if I post the PowerPoint and notes to Blackboard.”

“Danny,” Booker sighed. “You don’t need to do that, I can handle being alone for awhile.”

“That may be true, but you don’t have to. And besides you’re going to be bored out of your mind.”

“Be careful what you wish for. I might make you my scribe for the day,” Booker said with a smirk.

“Oh really? You got a lot to say?” Danny raised an eyebrow and poked at Booker’s hand. 

“Mmhmm. Gotta write a message to the team. Make an official statement for the league and the press. Skim through the stupid number of texts I’ve gotten and see if any need a reply. Might even have you check my emails while you’re at it,” he said with a small grin. 

Danny rolled his eyes. “We’ll take it one thing at a time, alright?”

“Yeah, alright,” Booker replied and gave his hand another squeeze.

—————————————

“The team wants to see you, you know,” Danny mentioned one afternoon, about a week later. 

Booker cracked an eye open to glance at him. He had been meditating, finding it easier to relax when his mind quieted.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think the nurses would be thrilled to have a couple dozen hockey players file through here,” Booker answered with a faint smirk. Danny shot him a look and Booker sighed. He knew that’s not what he meant. 

“Yeah, I know,” he mumbled. “Who’s been pestering you now?”

“Mitch, mostly,” Danny admitted. “Wants to know if he and MacKinnon can stop by tomorrow before practice.”

“Why? So they can come and make fucking annoying pity faces and then walk out of here saying ‘thank god it’s not me’?” Booker muttered and rolled his eyes. Danny smacked his arm with a rolled up magazine. 

“Would it kill you to not be an asshole for a change? They want to come see you because everyone misses you and they’re worried about you, now stop being a dick.”

“Seem to be doing fine without me. They’re what? 5-0 since I got taken out?”

“Would you rather they be losing?”

Booker paused before deflating, replying in a tired voice. “No.”

“Then cut the shit,” Danny said. “Envy is not a good look on you, Christian.”

“Few things are these days, to be fair.”

“I don’t know about that, the new glasses really complement the neck brace, I think,” Danny said brightly and Booker groaned. 

“You are ridiculous.”

“Not my fault you look cute.” Danny shrugged and Booker barked out a laugh.

“Maybe you’re the one that needs the glasses then, my friend,” he teased. 

Danny looked ready to fire back but was cut off by the sound of the alarm going off on his phone, alerting him that it was time to leave if he wanted to make it to class on time. He groaned and shut it off before giving Booker puppy eyes. Booker raised his eyebrows and smirked slightly. 

“Don’t look at me, it’s not my fault it’s finals season.”

“I know, I know. I’m just not in the mood to go listen to presentations for the next couple hours,” Danny sighed.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have assigned them,” Booker replied with a grin. 

“Well if I’d known I was going to be busy, I wouldn’t have.”

“Coming and keeping my sorry ass company does not qualify as being busy, no matter how dull your social life might be.”

Danny rolled his eyes as he packed up his things. “Yes, it does, because looking after you is a full time job.”

“Daniel, there’s an entire building of people here to look after me. I think I’ll survive the night,” Booker pointed out and offered him a small smile.

Danny paused what he was doing to glance over at him. “Does that mean you don’t want me to come back after class?” He asked quietly as he slowly slipped the last of his papers into his messenger bag.

Booker sighed and tried not to roll his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that and you know it. I just think that we both know class is going to run over time and realistically I’ll be asleep before you get back anyways. Plus you could probably use a dinner that was made literally anywhere other than a hospital cafeteria and I’m sure a good night’s sleep in a real bed wouldn’t hurt either.”

Danny frowned and his eyes narrowed. “God, I hate it when you’re right,” he muttered with a sigh. “I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow, in case you want to talk before the guys get here, alright?”

“Yeah, alright. Good luck with class, remember to focus on the presentations,” Booker reminded and then paused. “Or don’t and just give them all A’s at this point, up to you.”

“Mmhmm, we’ll see.” Danny smirked before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to Booker’s forehead. “Get some sleep, Book,” he murmured softly before picking up his bag and leaving.

Booker broke into a goofy smile and held in a small laugh. He hadn’t truly realized the extent to which he missed Danny as a constant presence in his life. Sure, they’d had their good times when they were younger, but those were always in competition with the late night arguments and fights they’d had too. But this, this was different. This time around Booker was starting from pretty close to rock bottom and Danny was the one keeping him afloat. How Booker could ever repay him, he had no idea. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to spend the rest of his days trying.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Booker's a bit of an idiot, the hockey boys finally get speaking parts, and Max finally makes an appearance.

Sure enough, Danny was there when Booker woke up the next morning, sipping on his coffee and doing the daily crossword. It was becoming a familiar sight, but yet Booker was still always a little surprised and very relieved whenever he found him sitting there. Lying around in the hospital without being allowed to look at screens really did make day-to-day life boring for the time being, so he was grateful for the company.

It was an exciting day because the nurse finally agreed to let him sit upright instead of lying flat on his back all day. Even though it made his mid-back ache, he was grateful for some semblance of normalcy. It was a relief to be able to see the rest of the room and to look Danny straight in the eye when talking to him. He also got to use his phone finally, now that there wasn’t a risk of him dropping it on his face. The very same face that he now realized was growing scruffy as he looked at it through the front facing camera.

“God, I need a shave,” Booker muttered as he looked at his face from different angles.

“I don’t know, I kinda like the scruffy look,” Danny said with a grin. Booker shot him a skeptical look.

“You also like the glasses though, so your opinion doesn’t really count any more.”

“They make you look smarter for a start,” Danny said.

“You trying to tell me I usually look dumb?” Booker shot back.

“I never said that,” Danny replied, feigning innocence.

“Yeah, uh huh. You’re on thin fucking ice over there, Anderson.”

Danny went to argue but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Booker tensed and the smile faded on his face. Danny leaned over and took his hand to get his attention. Booker reluctantly made eye contact with him. “Hey, deep breath, okay? It’s just the guys.”

Booker chewed his bottom lip and forced himself to take a deep breath. He cleared his throat and called out, “Come in!”

Mitch and Nate shuffled into the room and Booker relaxed a tiny bit when they didn’t immediately turn around and leave. When they saw Danny though, both of them paused.

“Sorry, didn’t realize you had another visitor,” Mitch said as he glanced between Booker and Danny.

“No, you’re fine,” Booker dismissed. “Danny, this is Mitch and Nate. Mitch and Nate, this is Danny. He’s my…” Booker trailed off as he glanced at Danny, debating how to explain what they were. He settled for “friend” but as the word left his mouth he heard Danny’s voice answer as well.

“Boyfriend,” Danny said and Booker cringed slightly. That wasn’t exactly how he wanted to come out to his captains. And besides, who decided they were dating now?

“Ex-boyfriend, technically,” Booker explained and tried not to pay attention to the sour look that crossed Danny’s face.

“Anyway,” Danny said as he cleared his throat and offered a bright smile. “I’ve got to get to class. It was nice finally meeting you guys. Good luck with tomorrow’s game.”

Danny gathered up his stuff and threw a glance at Booker, who knew he had royally fucked up. “If you see Mr. Tumnus, give him my best, will you?” He said with a sarcastic smile before leaving.

As the door swung shut behind him, Booker let out a groan and closed his eyes for a second. “Well that went well,” he muttered.

Mitch and Nate exchanged a glance. “Gotta be honest, Book, that was not your best work,” Mitch said with a sympathetic smile.

Booker snorted and opened his eyes again. “Thanks for the confidence boost.”

“Aside from that, how have you been feeling?” Nate asked.

“Not too bad, all things considered. Most annoying has been the headaches from the concussion and the fact that I’m sleeping all the goddamn time. Looking forward to getting out of here and over to rehab for a change of scenery at least.”

And so they chatted, discussing everything from the previous night’s game to how terrible hospital food was to the new lineups they were trying out. It felt good to be back talking hockey with his friends. Booker always tried to avoid too much hockey talk with Danny, knowing that it wasn’t his favorite subject in the world, so it was a nice change of pace. It was nice to hear how the team had been doing since he last saw everyone, although he admittedly felt a pang of longing at the thought of his team continuing with business as usual. As it drew closer to practice time, Nate requested they get a picture together.

“You know, like a proof of life photo,” he joked and Mitch hit him in the back of his head. “What? Nobody’s seen him for a couple of weeks. I think it’ll put some minds at ease to see that he’s doing fine,” he defended.

Booker rolled his eyes and sighed. “Yeah, alright, get over here before I change my mind,” he said with a smirk and waved them both over. “You each owe me five bucks for each asshole that points out that I look like shit though.”

“Oh shut up,” Mitch said as he took his place over Booker’s right shoulder while Nate took his place over his left. Nate had the longest arms so he took the selfie of the three of them, with Booker in the middle giving a thumbs up. He knew he looked like crap but figured if anyone had seen him look worse, except for a certain few immortals, it was probably his teammates.

As they started saying their goodbyes and getting ready to head to practice, Mitch seemed to be debating something. When Nate headed for the door, Mitch hesitated before telling him he’d meet him at the rink. Booker eyed him carefully and raised an eyebrow.

“What’s up, Marner?”

“I don’t want to add anything to your plate…” He started.

“But?”

“Well, Max hasn’t been handling this too well.”

“Max?” Booker inquired, trying to run through names in his head.

“Domi. He’s the one that took you out,” Marner explained and Booker hummed in understanding. Right, the two of them had played together when they were younger. Made sense that they’d been talking.

“To be fair, it was technically the boards that took me out, but get to your point.”

“You know that’s not true,” Mitch frowned.

“Was it a clean hit?”

“That doesn’t ma--”

“Was. It. A. Clean. Hit?” Booker repeated slowly, watching him carefully.

“Yeah, technically it was, but--”

“But nothing,” Booker interrupted. “He wasn’t out to cause any shit, he was just playing the game. Accidents happen, it’s not his fault.”

Mitch fell quiet and studied him for a moment. When he seemed to believe that Booker actually felt that way, he nodded slightly and shifted his feet.

“Alright. Regardless, he feels awful. He’s suspended indefinitely, so he can’t dress for games, but he hasn’t been showing up to practice either. He doesn’t want to see or talk to anyone. As far as I know, I’m the only person he’s so much as texted outside of his family.”

“Jesus,” Booker muttered with a frown. He hadn’t even considered what it was like at the other end of this, but now he could imagine just how shitty that would feel.

“He’s texted me everyday,” Mitch continued. “Asking about how you’re doing and if we’d heard from you. I gave him your number and told him to ask for himself but he was mortified at the idea of bothering you.”

Booker could see where this was going. He chewed his lip and sighed. “Alright, leave me his number, I’ll give him a call later.”

“He might just hang up on you,” Mitch warned.

“Well then thank god I’m a persistent asshole with nothing but time on my hands, huh?” Booker said with a small grin. “Add his contact to my phone on the table. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks, Book,” Mitch said with a smile. “I appreciate it.”

“Good, because this is the favor I’m doing instead of paying you your fifty bucks from the hat trick bet,” Booker replied with a smirk.

“Sure, that’s what we’ll call it.” Mitch gave him a knowing grin as he plugged the number into Booker’s phone. When he was done he handed the phone off to Booker. 

“Alright, I’ve gotta get going, coach will kill me if I’m late.”

“Then get your ass out of here, Marner!” Booker laughed slightly. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“For sure,” Mitch promised with a nod before heading for the door.

Once the guys had left and Booker had had some time to decompress, he started fiddling with his phone. He knew the right thing to do would be to text Danny an apology, but somehow that felt wrong. That was a conversation that they really needed to have face to face. He hated those conversations but if he had learned anything in his 260+ years on earth, it was that you have to confront your feelings and your issues at some point, otherwise they just make life infinitely worse. He’d already made that mistake, more than once. 

So he procrastinated the Danny issue and tried to push it out of his head. After all, he’d be in class for another hour or so anyways so it didn’t matter what Booker did in the meantime. He stared at the new contact still open on his phone screen. He’d never really spoken to Domi before, aside from a handshake after a game or the occasional fight. Well, there was no time like the present. He hit the call button and turned on the speakerphone before setting the phone down in his lap. It rang a couple of times until someone picked up. 

“Hello?” The voice at the other end answered, sounding slightly out of breath. 

“Hey, is this Max?” Booker asked, mainly to be polite. 

“Uh, yeah, who’s this?” He sounded a bit confused and Booker smirked. The kid hadn’t even saved the number Marner gave him. Classic. 

“This is Christian le Livre, how’s it going?”

There was suddenly absolute silence at the other end of the line. Booker gave it a couple of moments before sighing. “You still with me, man?”

“Y-yeah. Sorry, yeah, I’m here.” Max’s voice was much quieter now and was laced with a hint of disbelief.

“That’s good, just wanted to make sure you didn’t pass out or anything. That would suck,” Booker commented. 

Max let out a small laugh that sounded like it was bordering on hysterical. 

“If you’re worried that I called to yell at you or something like that, don’t be. I don’t hold anything against you. It was a clean hit and hey, shit happens, right? It’s not a game without risk,” Booker reassured him, speaking gently. 

“How…” Max started before trailing off. Booker was patient though and waited, knowing he’d find a thought eventually. “How are you not mad at me?”

“Cause it wasn’t your fault, plain and simple. I know a couple of my teammates might disagree with that, but that’s their problem right now.”

“I ended your career.” Booker could head Max’s voice break and it was like a knife to the chest. 

“No, you did your job. Accidents happen. That’s just a part of the game,” Booker pointed out quietly. “I promise, what happened was not your fault. The fallout of that play is not your fault.”

He could hear Max sniffle on the other end of the line and he sighed. He really didn’t know how else to reassure him that things were alright between them, especially just talking on the phone. He was about to speak up again when he heard a soft “shit!” come over the line. 

“You good, man? What’s going on?”

“Sorry, just… Give me a second,” Max muttered and Booker could hear him moving around on the other end of the call. So Booker waited patiently until he heard Max return to the phone. “Hey, sorry about that.”

“No worries, you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good. You just caught me after a run and my blood sugar went low. Had to grab something to eat,” he said, mumbling slightly through a full mouth. 

Booker winced. “Sorry, didn’t mean to throw you off. I can call some other time if now’s bad…?” He wasn’t really well versed in how one kept diabetes in check or how to balance blood sugar or anything like that. He remembers Mitch mentioning it once or twice how hard it was for Max to balance that on top of being a professional athlete. 

“No, it’s fine. I’ll bounce back in a few minutes,” Max murmured. He paused a moment before clearing his throat. “Listen, Book, not to be rude or anything, but why did you call?”

“Well, in all honesty, I heard you’ve been skipping out on practice. Wanted to know what that was all about.”

“Who told you that?” Max asked after a long pause.

“Don’t really see how that matters. I’ve been in touch with half the damn league, you really think I wasn’t gonna find out?” Booker said with a faint smirk.

“Yeah, so what’s it matter to you?”

“Well, I’d hate to see your season, or your career, end over something as stupid as this. You’ve got plenty of hockey left in you, so you best get your ass back on the ice. You never struck me as a quitter, so you better not prove me wrong now.” Booker paused for a moment before adding a bit more cheerily, “plus, I’ll keep calling you, everyday, until you get back to practice. Don’t think that I won’t. I’m a stubborn man with a lot of free time on my hands now.”

Max snorted on the other end of the line and Booker broke into a grin.

“God, when Mitch described you as ‘just a bit of a bastard,’ this is not what I had imagined,” Max said and Booker could hear the grin on his face.

“Marner said that?” He tsked his tongue. “You think you know a guy…” He trailed off with a laugh.

“Getting back to my point though,” Booker said after a moment. “Promise me you’ll get your shit together and get back to work?”

“Yeah, alright,” Max agreed. “What do I do if they ask where I’ve been…?”

“Tell them to mind their fucking business and move on,” Booker suggested. “Doubt anyone’s gonna dig too deep though.”

“Fair enough,” Max said with a sigh.

“I’ve got two more requests for you, if you’ll indulge me.”

“Okaaayyyy…” Max didn’t sound completely convinced, but it was good enough for Booker to keep going.

“Next time you’re in Vancouver, let me know?” He asked, voice a bit hopeful. There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, alright. What’s the last thing?”

“Keep in touch?” Booker offered. “My life is incredibly boring at the moment, if you haven’t figured that out already.”

“Must be if you’re calling me of all people,” Max said with a breath of a laugh.

“Thought it would be a nice change of pace,” Booker said with a smirk. “Plus I told Mitch I’d give you a call.”

“Ah, so that’s who I have to thank.”

“Don’t tell him I told you, he’ll stop bringing me snacks.”

Max laughed at that. “Fair enough, wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

“Exactly. I knew you’d understand.” Booker glanced at the clock and paused. “I’ll let you get back to your day. But when you get back to practice, I want photo proof, you hear me?”

“Yeah, sure thing, Book,” Max replied and paused a moment. “And thanks,” he added quietly.

“Any time. Bye, Max”

“Bye, Book.”

And with that, Booker hung up. He heaved a sigh and let his eyes drift closed for a moment. What was he doing? It wasn’t his job to babysit Domi, so then why did he feel so drawn to keeping an eye on him? The answer escaped him for the time being, but he’s sure he’ll come up with something eventually. But for now, he’d had a long day and a nap was sounding phenomenal. So he let himself sink into the pillows and drift off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for anyone curious/confused by the Mr. Tumnus reference: it's because Booker's so far in the closet, he might as well be in Narnia.  
> Feel free to come yell at me for my dumb jokes and references over on tumblr @transeliot


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you that have been waiting for Nile, Nicky, and Joe to make an appearance, here you go.

Two days passed with no word from Danny. But that was fine, Booker could handle a few days alone. Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself. On the third day that Booker woke up alone, he finally caved and called him. It rang twice before getting sent to voicemail, leaving Booker disappointed, but admittedly not surprised.

“Hey Danny boy,” he said softly. “Sorry I called so early, just figured I might be able to get a hold of you before class, but apparently not.” Booker paused a moment as he chewed on his bottom lip. He cleared his throat before continuing. 

“Listen, I’m--I’m sorry about earlier this week, okay? That was… I fucked up, alright? It’s just that I didn’t--I mean, I wasn’t--” Booker struggled to find the words to explain himself. “You caught me off-guard,” he finally settled on. “And, well, I wasn’t ready. And that’s not fair to you. I’ve hid behind stupid excuses for too long, but the fact of the matter is, I was scared. I was so focused on being scared of losing everything that I hurt and lost you along the way. I’m sorry. I never want to do that again.”

He took a deep, shaky breath in through his nose and out through his mouth. “I want this time to be different. I want to do it right this time. I’ll come clean to everybody: the team, the league, the fans, everyone. As long as it means I can still have you in my life. Because I need you, in any way you’ll take me.” His voice was almost a whisper by the end and he paused to clear his throat, actively ignoring the dampness on his cheeks. “So, um, let me know, okay? I’ll uh, I’ll be here. You know where to find me and how to get in touch. Hope your classes are going well.” He couldn’t bring himself to choke out a goodbye and just hung up, somehow managing to feel even worse and even more pathetic than before he called.

He knew that his next idea was a terrible one, but he just couldn’t think straight right now and didn’t know who else to call. So before he could change his mind, he dialed a number he knew by heart and held his breath as he heard it ring.

“This better be good,” Nile sighed when she answered. “We just started Lilo and Stitch and I’ll be damned if I miss seeing Joe cry at a kids movie again.”

Booker cracked a small smile and let out a sigh of relief. “Missed you too, shortstack.” He could feel the tension fade from his shoulders, just knowing that she was there.

“What’ve you been up to that you’ve been too busy to call, hmmm? Haven’t heard from you in almost two months,” Nile pointed out, but her tone bordered more on the side of concern than accusatory. 

Booker chewed his bottom lip as he chose his words carefully. “Sorry, things kind of picked up at work. Haven’t had a lot of alone time.”

“Uh-huh,” Nile said, not sounding entirely convinced. “Anyone in particular taking up your free time?”

“Maybe,” Booker said. She really could see right through him. “Remember Daniel?”

“The history nerd? From like, what? 5 years ago?” Booker could practically hear the gears turning in her head from here.

“Hey, that’s Doctor History Nerd to you. But yes, that Daniel,” Booker sighed. 

“Oh boy, should I go grab some popcorn for this one?” Nile teased, knowing exactly how dramatic Book could be when Danny was involved.

“Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no venom behind it.

“Alright, alright. What’s up with Daniel then?”

“We’ve been spending a lot of time together lately, but I think I fucked up again,” Booker admitted with a sigh.

“Oh, Book…” Nile sighed. “What makes you say that?”

“I was introducing him to some work friends and introduced him as my friend while he introduced himself as my boyfriend and I may or may not have pointed out he was technically my ex-boyfriend and then he left and hasn’t spoken to me in three days,” Booker let out in one big rush, running a hand through his hair in exasperation and cringing slightly.

Nile let out a low whistle and paused for a moment. “Yeah, so maybe you did fuck up a little bit this time. But maybe you can still recover? Maybe bring him some flowers or something? I don’t know, use your French charm!”

Booker let out a laugh. “While I appreciate your faith in me, that French charm has been gone for the better part of two centuries.”

“Well I don’t know!” Nile said, exasperated. “I’m the worst person to ask, I’ve never been in a relationship, remember?” There was a long pause before Nile spoke up again. “However, I do know a couple of someones--”

“Nile, no.” Booker snapped firmly. “Don’t even think about it, I swear to god.”

“Okay, fine! Your loss,” she replied in a sing-song voice.

“Excuse me for not wanting to mention my further failures in life to the people who loathe me the most at the moment,” Booker muttered.

“Hey,” Nile interrupted, her voice softer now. “You know that’s not true.”

“Do I? Because it certainly doesn’t feel like that big of a leap these days.”

“C’mon Book. They love you. I love you. We all love you. You have to know that.”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed and paused a moment. “I love you too. I miss you guys.”

“We miss you too. Even if the others are too stubborn to say it out loud.” Booker could practically hear her eyes rolling from here.

“I should let you get back to your movie night, I wouldn't want you to miss Stitch.”

“Oh okay, but for the record, you’re totally worth missing Stitch for,” Nile replied and Booker couldn’t help the way his heart warmed and a smile spread across his face. 

“Thanks, Nile. Take care of yourself.”

“You too, Book. I mean it.”

Booker let out a soft laugh. “I’ll do my best. Goodnight.”

“Night, Booker.”

\-----------------------------------------------

“What was that all about?” Joe’s voice rang out as Nile returned to the living room, only to find that he and Nicky had paused the movie for her.

“Nothing important, just checking in,” Nile replied as she flopped down at the opposite end of the couch from where Joe and Nicky were entangled with each other. “You didn’t need to pause it, I’ve seen this one before.”

“I know, but we weren’t sure how long you were going to be. Didn’t want you to miss any of the good parts,” Joe said and Nicky nodded along.

“How is he?” Nicky ventured after a beat of silence, looking over at Nile with a mix of curiosity and concern.

“Same as usual,” she replied as she tucked her feet up next to her on the couch. “Sounded a bit off, but overall alright.”

Joe and Nicky exchanged a glance before Nicky looked back at her. “What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know, he sounded tired almost? But like, not everyday Booker tired, closer to exhausted I’d say,” Nile thought out loud before shrugging slightly. “I don’t know, maybe I’m reading too much into it, he did say things were busy at work.”

“Probably just fell off the wagon again,” Joe muttered, only to be answered with a slap on the arm from Nicky. “What? It wouldn’t be the first time,” Joe grumbled in defense.

“Right, because he’d definitely throw away 15 years of sobriety because of a dumb fight with his boyfriend,” Nile muttered as she rolled her eyes. “Give him some credit, would you?”

“Fifteen years-”

“Boyfriend?”

Nile couldn’t help but laugh at Joe and Nicky’s respective responses. And, alright, maybe she slipped up and shouldn’t have told them about that part of the call, but their reactions were worth it.

“Anyways,” Nile announces. “I believe we have a movie to finish?”

“Wait, so you mean to tell me that Booker is--” Joe started but was quickly cut off by Nile.

“Sober? In a relationship? Yeah. He’s living his life and trying to be a better person, just like you told him to. I don’t understand why that’s so surprising,” Nile said with a sigh before reaching over and plucking the bowl of popcorn from Nicky’s hands.

The two men paused at how unexpectedly defensive Nile sounded. They sat in silence for a moment before Joe cleared his throat.

“I was going to say ‘not-straight,’ but that works too,” Joe said slowly.

Nile almost choked on her popcorn as she looked between him and Nicky, who was nodding in agreement with Joe.

“Oh, my god, you two can’t be serious.”

“What? It’s not our fault he never brought anyone home!”

“Two- _hundred_ years!” Nile exclaimed.

“Hey, that’s not fair-” Nicky tried to argue but Nile held up her hand to stop him.

“You have both known the man for over two centuries, and you want to tell me _you didn’t know_?” Nile cried out in exasperation. “What the fuck did you do during that time? Did any of you talk to each other, like, at all?”

Joe and Nicky at least had the decency to look embarrassed. “I just kind of figured he was still in love with his wife, I don’t know,” Nicky mumbled. Given the look on his face though, it was clear he had never given this much thought before.

“Y’all are ridiculous,” Nile muttered as she leaned forward to grab the remote from the coffee table to start the movie.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just pure Danny and Booker fluff.

Visiting hours were almost over by the time Danny got to the hospital that night, but he must have looked particularly desperate by the time he reached Booker’s floor because when a nurse he didn’t recognize tried to stop him, the nurse supervisor waved them off and pulled Danny aside.

“I’m going to warn you now, he’s been asleep for about an hour already. But something tells me that’s not going to deter you from staying a while, is it?” She asked him with a knowing smile.

Danny offered a sheepish smile as he shook his head barely. “No, it’s not.”

“That’s what I thought. You stay as long as you like, so long as you don’t cause any trouble, alright?”

“Understood. Thank you,” Danny replied and continued down the hall to Booker’s room.

He crept inside and closed the door as quietly as he could, knowing very well that Booker was a relatively light sleeper under normal circumstances. And while these weren’t necessarily normal circumstances, he figured it was better to be safe than sorry. The last thing he wanted to deal with right now was a grouchy and tired Booker.

Sure enough, as expected, Booker was sound asleep when Danny reached his bedside. He carefully set down his bag next to his usual chair and set his coffee on the bedside table. A sad smile spread across his face when he realized that Booker was still holding onto his phone. He very carefully eased it from his grip and plugged it into the charger by the foot of the bed.

“You’re a sap, you know that?” Danny murmured under his breath as he settled into his seat with a stack of essays in his lap. “And a bastard at that, leaving a message like that during office hours.” 

He sighed and glanced over at Booker’s sleeping form. “You’re lucky I love you,” he added quietly before uncapping his pen and starting the slow and painful process of grading this week’s literature reviews. 

Danny spent the next couple hours in relative silence, flipping through essays and downing his coffee while Booker slept next to him. He was just glancing up to check the time when he heard Booker mumble something unintelligible next to him. 

He looked over and frowned when he noticed that Booker was still asleep, except now his brows were pinched and his breaths sounded shallower. Danny bit his lip. It had been a while since he’d had to talk Booker through a nightmare. Sometimes he could get him to relax without waking him, but other times...well, he hoped it wouldn’t get that bad.

“Shhh, it’s okay, Book,” Danny murmured softly as he shifted closer, very gently smoothing a hand over his hair. “You’re okay, it’s just a dream.”

When his words appeared to have no effect, and Booker just continued to grow more tense, Danny shifted to sit on the edge of the bed. He lightly cupped Booker’s cheek and ran his thumb along his cheekbone, brushing away the tears that were starting to fall. Just as he was debating calling for a nurse, Booker gasped awake and immediately reached for his throat, clawing at the neck brace.

“Hey, hey, hey, none of that,” Dany hushed and reached for his hands, catching them easily and lacing his fingers between Booker’s. “Take a deep breath, Book, you’re alright. It was just a bad dream, I promise.” He gave his hands a gentle squeeze and leaned in closer to force Booker to look at him.

“Look at me, you’re okay. Everyone’s okay. I’m here, you’re safe,” he repeated in a soft, soothing voice. He relaxed a little as Booker’s eyes found his and recognition flashed across his face. “There we go, you’re okay,” he murmured and hesitated barely before letting go of one of Booker’s hands to reach up and card his fingers through Book’s hair.

He could practically see the gears turning in Booker’s head as he took in the scene around him with wide green eyes.

“Take your time, I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” Danny said with a small smile.

Booker bobbed his head barely and let his eyes fall shut again as he took in a deep, shaky breath. They fell into a comfortable silence as Booker gathered his thoughts. Danny ran his thumb in circles over the back of his hand.

“Do you want me to call your sister?” Danny asked quietly, knowing that sometimes that was the only way to get Booker to snap out of his nightmare-induced haze.

“No,” Booker replied immediately, eyes still closed. Danny’s eyebrows shot up at the sudden intensity in his voice. “Okay, no phone call then.”

Booker sighed and cracked his eyes open to look at Danny wearily. “I’ve already called her once today,” he admitted quietly. “If I call again she’ll worry. And the last thing I want right now is to attract their attention.”

Danny’s expression softened. “You haven’t told them yet.” It was a statement, rather than a question and Booker just hummed slightly in acknowledgement. Danny sighed. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it then.”

“We?” Booker asked quietly, gaze flitting up to meet Danny’s a bit uncertainly.

Danny looked at him incredulously. “You don’t really think I’m going to leave you by yourself to deal with this, do you, Christian? I’m not going to run off just because you called me your ex-boyfriend,” he added with a smirk. “I’ve stuck around after you’ve called me far worse, you know.”

At that, Booker’s cheeks flushed and he bit his lip. “Sorry,” he mumbled as he looked down at the sheets.

“See, I’m not even sure what you’re apologizing for at this point, but I’m also not going to ask because there are far more important things right now,” Danny replied.

Booker’s brow furrowed as he looked to Danny in confusion. 

“For instance,” Danny started before Booker could even question him. “It’s almost 10 pm and you need to get some rest and I need to grade three more papers tonight.”

Booker frowned. “What the hell are you doing here so late…? Shouldn’t you be home, sleeping or something?”

“See I would, but this big oaf I know left a really sweet message on my voicemail while I was holding office hours this morning,” Danny said as a smile pulled at the corners of his lips. “And I just couldn’t get it out of my head all day so I thought I’d stop by to check on him.”

“Must be a pretty special guy for you to drive all the way across town to see him this late at night,” Booker replied with a lazy grin.

“He’s alright. A bit of an asshole sometimes but he just can’t help it. I think he’s working on that though, definitely showing improvements,” Danny said with a thoughtful nod. “He’s just lucky I love him enough to put up with it.”

Booker’s expression faltered momentarily before he recovered with a wide smile. “I’d say he’s pretty damn lucky indeed.” And if his eyes looked a little glassy, well, who could blame him.

“Mmhmm,” Danny hummed in agreement and gave his hand a squeeze. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Booker’s forehead. “Try and get some rest, okay?” Danny murmured before moving to get up and return to his seat, only for Booker to catch his arm and pull him back. Danny arched an eyebrow and glanced back at him.

“I think you missed,” Booker said very solemnly but his eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Oh, did I now?” Danny grinned and held a laugh. 

“Mmhmm, too high, gotta go a little lower.”

“Well if you insist…” Danny smirked before leaning in and leaving a light kiss on the tip of his nose. “Better?”

“So close. Just gotta bring it down a little more,” Booker said with a grin. 

“Mm, that’s what I was afraid of,” Danny teased before leaning in one last time to plant a soft kiss on his lips. He pulled away a tiny bit and lightly rested his forehead against Booker’s. “Better?”

“Much,” Booker sighed before pulling Danny in for one more quick kiss. “For good luck,” Booker assured him after.

“Of course,” Danny agreed before getting up. He pulled his chair closer to the edge of the bed so he could still hold onto Booker’s hand.

“Now get some sleep, I don’t want the nurse yelling at me if you’re grumpy tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have both of them just spent the past few years desperately missing each other, but they were both too stubborn to admit it? Perhaps.


	8. Chapter 8

When Booker woke up the next morning he had a text waiting for him from Danny.

_Had to run some errands, I’ll be back after class this afternoon. Xx_

He broke into a sleepy grin and set his phone back down again. Logically, he knew Danny would be back later, but it was still a relief to have some reassurance that he wasn’t being totally abandoned. 

His phone pinged again and he frowned, knowing that Danny’s first class had already begun. He glanced down at the phone and sighed when he read the message from Copley.

_Are you ready to talk yet?_

If Booker was being honest with himself, the answer was no, but he also knew that he’d never be ready to deal with that call. So he reluctantly dialed Copley’s number and put it on speakerphone so he could set the phone down.

“And here I was worried that you’d ghost me,” Copley answered.

“Good to hear from you too, James,” Booker sighed.

“Please, try to contain your excitement,” Copley deadpanned and Booker could just imagine him sitting behind his desk, spinning in that ridiculous swivel chair.

“What do you want, Copley? In case you haven’t heard, I’ve kind of got a lot on my plate right now.”

“Yeah, I’d say you do. C5, T7, T8, and one hell of a concussion,” Copley listed and Booker could tell he was looking through his current medical file. “Ever the over-achiever, aren’t you?”

“But hey, I’ve still got all my teeth, not to mention my sparkling personality,” Booker replied with a faint grin.

“And god knows where we’d be without that,” Copley said with a slightly dramatic sigh. “In all seriousness though, how have you been doing?”

“Alright. They’ve kept me pretty drugged up so that’s been nice. Rumor has it they’re going to discharge me at the end of the week and send me over to rehab, which I’m not exactly excited about. But it is what it is.” Booker paused for a moment before adding quietly, “thank you for not saying anything by the way.”

“Mmm, yeah you owe me big time for that one. Speaking of which, the sooner you tell them the better. I feel like if you wait too long and Nile finds out, she’ll come kill me herself.”

“I’ve still got like 7 months left, that was our deal,” Booker argued.

“You cannot tell me that this doesn’t change anything, Book,” Copley groaned. “I’ll give you one month, after that I’m telling them.”

“How about you give me three months after the last Canucks game?” Booker suggested. “That’s a reasonable compromise.”

Copley paused and thought it over. “One month after the last game. That’s the best you’re going to get.”

Booker mulled it over for a few minutes. The playoffs had just started so the Cup was about a month away and, assuming Vancouver made it to the Cup, an extra month would at least get him to the end of June. With some help on Danny’s part, he should be mostly settled by then.

“Yeah, alright. I can work with that. And while I’ve got you here, I’ve got another favor to ask of you. I promise, it’s a far lower risk favor than the last one I asked of you,” Booker said with a slight smirk.

“Alright, what is it?” Copley asked with a resigned sigh.

“Need you to do some research for me. I’m in the market for a new apartment, because something tells me the loft might be a bit of a hassle now.”

“Fair enough, I’ll look into it. Specific requirements?”

“Balcony, at least two bedrooms, probably looking for a more open floor plan,” Booker listed off the top of his head.

“That’s not exactly what I meant, Sebastien,” Copley sighed and Booker could picture him with his furrowed brow, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I was thinking more along the lines of access--”

“Yeah, I know,” Booker cut him off with a sigh. “I’ll have Danny email you the specifics later,” he muttered.

“Sounds good. I’ll work on that this week. Anything else?”

“I’ll probably need a moving crew at some point. I’d rather it be some of your guys than anyone else. Don’t really want civilians finding the small armory in the back of my closet,” Booker replied.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Feel free to shoot me a message or give me a call if you think of anything else you need, alright?”

“Will do. Thanks, Copley.”

“Any time, Booker. Take care.”

“You too,” he answered before hanging up. That admittedly went better than he had expected, if he was being honest with himself. He’d been a little worried that Copley was going to conference call Nile in or something ridiculous like that, which would not have gone over well at all. No, he needed time to adjust to his new reality before he started adding in any additional factors, like possibly reuniting with his family. Setting boundaries was good, or at least, that’s what his therapist had told him a number of years ago.  
\-------------------------------

“Sorry I’m late,” Danny said as he walked into Booker’s room. “Got ambushed by some students after class. Why do undergrads ask so many goddamn questions anyways?”

“Because they’re literally children and have no confidence yet?” Booker guessed before looking up from his phone and breaking into a grin. “Jeans today? Wow, you really are going for the cool professor look, aren’t you?” He teased and Danny pouted slightly.

“Shut up, it’s laundry day,” Danny mumbled as he sat down. “Anything exciting happen while I was gone?”

“Depends on your definition of exciting,” Booker said with a smirk. “But no, not really. Mainly just got poked and prodded some more.”

“Sounds about right,” Danny sighed as he moved his chair closer.

“Do you want to help me do something incredibly boring?” Booker asked as he glanced over at him.

“How is that different from every other night I’ve spent here?” Danny replied, struggling to keep a straight face.

“Ouch, okay then. And you say I’m the asshole,” Booker said with a laugh. “Fine you don’t get to help anymore.”

Danny rolled his eyes and rested his elbows on the edge of the bed with his chin resting on his hands. “You have my undivided attention. What lovely and incredibly boring thing would you like me to do?”

“Help me look into some stuff for my new apartment?” Booker asked and watched him carefully.

Danny paused for a moment. “Why?”

Booker frowned as his brow furrowed. “What do you mean, ‘why?’”

“Why are you asking me? Are you asking because you don’t want to do it yourself, or because you want my objective input, or because you want my personal input?”

Booker just stared at him, bewildered. After a long pause he found his voice again. “Why do I feel like this is a trick question?” He asked carefully.

“It’s not,” Danny said with a shrug. “I just didn’t know if you were asking me specifically because you want my opinion or if you just needed someone in general to help out. I don’t mind either way, I’d be happy to help, I was just curious.”

Booker considered this for a moment. He hadn’t really thought about it all that much, to be honest. He just knew he was going to need someone sensible to help him think about what he’s going to need that he might not have thought of on his own. But now that he thought about it, if Danny was serious about getting back together again, then he would be spending a lot of time there too. So it would only be fair to have Danny weigh in.

“In that case,” Booker said slowly, still eyeing Danny like this might be a trick question after all. “A little bit of both, I guess?”

“Fair enough,” Danny said and sat up straighter, reaching into his bag and fishing out his laptop. “So, what exactly do you want me to look into?”

“What I’m going to need out of an apartment other than just ‘not stairs,’” Booker said with a faint smile. But he could tell by the look on Danny’s face that he wasn’t all that convincing in hiding his discomfort, both with asking for help and also with the subject at hand.

“So you mean what to look for to make sure everything is accessible and wheelchair friendly?” Danny asked and his gaze was so piercing that Booker broke eye contact and looked down at the sheets.

“Yeah, that,” he said quietly and cleared his throat. He kept his gaze in his lap for a minute, before glancing up at Danny who had remained silent since his last question. He was watching Booker the way he looked at a crossword puzzle clue that he thought he knew the answer to, but the letters didn’t quite fit in the space provided. Danny pursed his lips and carefully closed his laptop again.

“What now?” Booker said with a sigh.

“You’re not ready for that yet. Don’t worry, I’ll still work on it later, but for now you and I need to have a talk,” Danny said quietly.

“I didn’t even say anything,” Booker complained. “What are you upset about now?”

“That’s the problem. You haven’t been saying anything. You’ve just been ignoring and avoiding questions and leaving me to fill in the blanks. You gotta start using your words, Book.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? We’ve talked plenty,” Booker replied and resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing just how much it pissed Danny off when he did. 

“You’ve said practically nothing about how you’ve been feeling mentally, emotionally. You’re not willing to acknowledge what you’re going through and you looked like you’d rather vomit than talk about how your life is going to be different now. Your nurse told me that when they brought a therapist by last week you told them you weren’t interested which, fine, but you’ve got to talk to somebody, Book.” Danny was practically pleading by the time he stopped talking and Booker was just feeling increasingly more on edge. 

“That’s not true,” Booker said but even he could hear how hollow his voice sounded. He wasn’t even sure which statement he was arguing at this point. 

“No? Alright then, name something you’re going to need from your new apartment that’s different from the loft.”

Booker hesitated and chewed his lip. “I don’t know, more space?”

“Where? And why?”

“Everywhere, I guess. Because the furniture will have to be more spaced out,” Booker said slowly as he thought through it.

“Good. Why are you going to need more space between furniture?” Danny continued, keeping his gaze steady on Booker.

Booker just looked at him. “Seriously?”

“Answer the question, Book,” Danny replied with a sigh.

“Because I’ll need the space to get around comfortably.”

“And why will you need more space to get around than before?”

“Because I’ll need to be able to fit a wheelchair in between. Now what is your fucking point?”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Danny’s lips. “That was my point. Do you realize how much faster that would have gone just now if you had led with ‘because I’ll need space to navigate a wheelchair’ instead of making me play twenty questions in order for you to acknowledge that same fact?” Danny pointed out and watched him carefully.

“What’s your point, Danny?” Booker asked again. He didn’t feel like playing games just to try and understand the conversation. 

“My point is, the faster you recognize and process that things are going to be different now whether you like it or not, the easier the transition is going to be for you. It’s got to be weighing on your mind whether you want to admit to it or not. You can’t just keep ignoring whatever it is you’re feeling, we both know that doesn’t work. You can’t run from this.”

“To be fair, I don’t think I can run from anything these days,” Booker pointed out.

Danny let out an exasperated groan and leaned back in his chair. Booker watched him for a moment before letting out a deep sigh. He dropped his gaze again and started fiddling with a loose thread on the edge of the sheet.

“I’m not ready,” he said quietly after a long moment. He could see Danny relax minutely out of the corner of his eye.

“For what, exactly?” Danny prompted gently.

“Everything?” Booker said weakly. “I’m not ready for everything to change. I’m not ready to feel stupid and useless again. I’m not ready to deal with people again.”

“Well, first of all, you have never been and will never be useless, ever. I can promise you that,” Danny said as he reached out and took one of Booker’s hands in his own. “As for feeling stupid? We all feel stupid from time to time. We all fuck up and learn from mistakes. Plus you’re a fast learner so the feeling stupid bit probably won’t last too long,” Danny offered with a smile.

“And when it comes to dealing with people, no offense, Book, but that’s never been your strong suit, so it’s not going to be any different from you not wanting to deal with people before. Yeah, they might be annoying for different reasons now, but you’ve always hated attention outside of the rink. I mean, for our first date, you had us drive an hour outside the city just to go get coffee, even though we lived like two blocks apart, for god’s sake,” Danny continued with a small grin.

He had a good point. Booker had been so used to lying low for so long that he now felt incredibly uncomfortable when there were too many eyes on him in public. It was one thing to willingly enter the spotlight on game days, it was entirely different to be recognized on the street.

“Okay, fair enough,” he conceded as he lightly traced abstract designs on Danny’s palm. The more he listened to Danny talk, the more relaxed he found himself feeling.

“As for everything changing? That’s not entirely true. You’ll still be you and I’ll still be me and we’ll still have each other. Which means you’ll still say stupid things and I’ll have to tell you that you’re being stupid. And you’ll still hate sushi and music made after 1980 and the fact that we dare call Quebecois ‘French’ when it is no such thing,” Danny said with a knowing smile and lightly poked Booker’s side.

“And you’ll still love sleeping in on the weekends and reading too many books at once and pancake breakfasts with fresh squeezed orange juice. And you’ll still kick my ass at MarioKart and make the best pastries found outside of France and unintentionally flirt with cute waiters and waitresses with your ridiculous charm.”

“Hey, I don’t--” Booker tried to defend himself only for Danny to shush him.

“You do realize most people do not get phone numbers written on basically all of their receipts, right? You do know that that’s not normal, yes?” Danny teased and Booker could feel the warmth spreading from his cheeks down to his chest as he blushed.

“And I’ll still worry about you causing trouble, except now I’ll get to do it in person instead of making guesses based off post-game interviews and your teammates’ social media stories. And it will still annoy me how long you take to pick out an outfit when we’re not even going anywhere special. And I’ll still want to kiss your stupid face even when I’m mad at you and I’ll still give you a hug every time I see you because there’s nowhere more comfortable in the world than in your arms and you’ll still laugh at me for how much milk and sugar I put in my coffee every morning.”

Booker couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Booker said and tugged on Danny’s hand. “C’mere,” he mumbled and let go of Danny’s hand, shifting to sit more upright so he wasn’t leaning back into the pillows anymore.

“Book,” Danny warned and Booker could feel a lecture coming so he just shushed him.

“Just shut up and come over here, okay? I’m fine.” He watched Danny carefully and made the face that Danny always told him made him look like a kicked puppy left out in the rain. He held out his arms and broke into a grin when he saw Danny’s shoulders slump as he caved, getting up and very carefully pulling Booker into a hug.

Booker felt the tension drain from his shoulders as he held Danny as close as he could. He bunched his fists up in the back of Danny’s shirt and clung to him, letting out a deep breath.

“We’re in this together, okay? We’ll figure things out one day at a time,” Danny murmured to him quietly and pressed a kiss to Booker’s temple. “Everything will be alright, I promise.”

“Thank you,” Booker mumbled back after a moment. Reluctantly he pulled away from Danny again, because his back was starting to ache from being a little twisted at that angle.

“So,” Booker said with a sigh. “You think Google’s got any advice on making apartments more accessible?” He asked with a faint smile and Danny gave a small snort.

“I’m sure we can find something,” Danny said as he pulled his laptop back out to get to work.

By the time Danny went home that night, Booker had a list of dimensions and suggestions over three pages long to send to Copley, with some side notes of his own. Danny was right, this wasn’t going to be easy, but they’ll be able to figure everything out one day at a time, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter really got away from me. So much ended up happening and for that, you all get bonus Booker and Danny content.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure: Danny's only in this chapter for about 5 seconds.  
> This one's about the beautiful blossoming friendship between Book and Max.

It had been a little over a week since Max had started texting Booker, and by now it was part of his practice routine. A quick picture here and there of miscellaneous things. A shot of the entrance to the arena before practice. A video of him picking up McDavid on his way to a game. A blurred picture of Hercules in the locker room. Just everyday life things with a quick hello. 

Some days they’d chat for a bit if Booker was up to it and Max had some free time and admittedly, Max was starting to enjoy their conversations. So he started texting him more often, asking about his opinions on certain books and movies and at one point questioning Booker’s sanity when he found out that the man was always in the middle of three books at a time. And in return, Booker seemed to be equally interested in picking his mind about growing up in a hockey household and making fun of his horrible attempts at French.

“Who are you always texting?” McAvoy asked one day when they were getting dressed for practice.

“Sorry, what?” Max said and glanced up from where he was captioning his most recent picture to send to Booker, a selfie labeled ‘ _showing up to practice hungover 0/10, would not recommend_.’

Charlie laughed slightly. “I asked who you’re always texting. I feel like you’re always on your phone in the locker room these days.”

“Oh. I was just checking in with Book,” Max replied with a shrug and set his phone down to start lacing up his skates. 

“Oh yeah? How’s he doing? Haven’t heard much of anything but I figure that’s a privacy thing with the media and all.”

“He’s doing good,” Max said with a nod. “Gets discharged tomorrow. I’m gonna see if I can stop by sometime next week.”

“Really?” Charlie sounded surprised as he cocked his head to the side. “Didn’t realize you knew him that well.”

Max just shrugged. “We’ve been in touch.” He glanced back down at his phone when it lit up with Booker’s reply.

_You’re too old to still be drinking like that on a weeknight_

Max held back a laugh and broke into a grin. Fair enough. He tossed his phone in his bag and headed for the ice. He’d catch up with Book again sooner or later.

——————————————

Sure enough, a week later Max found himself standing outside the rehab facility on a sunny afternoon. He gripped the tray of coffees that he had stopped and picked up on the way in a panic, because his mom raised him right and would chew him out if he dared show up anywhere empty-handed. He felt a bit ridiculous for being so nervous, especially considering Booker had been the one to ask him to stop by, so it’s not like he was intruding or anything.

He glanced at his watch and sighed. If he waited any longer, he’d be late. So he steeled himself and went inside with Hercules matching his step by his side. The woman at the reception desk seemed nice enough as he signed in as a guest.

“And who are you here to see?” She asked as she gave him his ID back.

“Chris le Livre, he said he’d leave a note or something that I was coming by?”

“You looking for Booker?” A voice asked off to his right and Max looked up to see a man he didn’t recognize slowing to a stop beside him. He was slipping a messenger bag over his shoulder and if it weren’t for the khakis and sweater over a button down shirt look, Max would’ve guessed he was a teammate. He was certainly tall enough, that’s for sure; he had a good three or four inches on Max.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” Max said, trying to sound moderately less confused than he surely looked. Book hadn’t said anything about having other plans for the day.

“I’m guessing you’re Max then.” But he said it more as a statement than a question, so whoever he was, he knew that Booker was expecting him. Max did his best not to flinch at the way the other man looked him over, sizing him up.

“That would be me,” he confirmed. “Are you a friend of Book’s?”

“You could say that,” the other man replied with a small grin. He nodded towards the hall he just came from. “He’s just finishing up PT for the day, you should be able to catch him before he disappears to go get changed. Otherwise you’ll be waiting a while. Second door down on the right.” He paused and glanced at Max, suddenly looking much more tired. “Try not to let him do anything too stupid, yeah?”

“I’ll do my best,” Max agreed with a nod before heading down the hall as directed. He stuck his head in the second doorway he came across and glanced around. It seemed like a pretty standard workout room with free weights and medicine balls down one end and a few machines down the other. And in the middle of it all sat Book, having a conversation with a petite blond woman. Or at least, it was someone that looked like Book more than anyone else he had seen. It was odd seeing him with a beard and his hair long enough to start curling around his ears, a stark contrast from the clean shaven and tight buzzcut look he’d sported for the majority of his career. 

Someone cleared their throat behind him and Max jumped slightly before apologizing and stepping out of the doorway to let them pass. By the time he looked back up, Booker had caught sight of him and was making his way over. 

“Would you look at that, it’s the greatest Maple Leaf of all time—and you brought Max too,” Booker said with a grin as he glanced between Hercules and Max. 

“You know what? I’m not even gonna argue that one,” Max replied. “It’s good to see you, man.”

“Likewise. C’mon, let’s get out of the hall and find somewhere to talk,” Booker said as he started off down another hall.

“So what’s the deal with your friend?” Max asked conversationally as he and Hercules followed Booker out to a courtyard patio.

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific,” Booker said as he glanced up at him.

“Tall, short dark hair, pretty clean cut, beard. Dressed like a librarian. Looked like he kinda wanted to punch me, but had been told he wasn’t allowed to, but was considering it anyways?” Max offered as he pulled up a chair to the small table that Booker had stopped at.

“Ah, you mean Danny,” Booker said with a grin. He arched an eyebrow when Max held out one of the coffees to him.

“Dark roast, black, right?” Max double checked as he eyed him anxiously.

“Yeah, actually,” Booker said, looking surprised as he took it from him and took a sip, immediately relaxing. “You’re the best. The coffee in this place tastes like overly watered down instant stuff. At that rate you might as well toss some dirt in a mug of boiling water and call it good enough,” he muttered and took another sip. “Thank you, really.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it,” Max said and paused as he drummed his fingertips along the side of his cup. “So who’s Danny? He didn’t really seem like a hockey guy, no offense.”

“None taken. I take it you ran into him on his way out?” He asked and then continued when Max nodded. “What’d he have to say to you?”

“Not much? Just said he was a friend of yours and told me where to find you. Oh, and he said to make sure you don’t do anything stupid,” Max said with a smirk. 

“He said he was a friend?”

“Yeah, why?” Max’s brow furrowed as he glanced over at Book. The question combined with the amused look on Booker’s face just made him more confused. If he wasn’t a friend then why would he be visiting? 

“Bastard,” Book mumbled into his coffee as he took another sip. “It’s fine, I’ll get back at him later and tell him that you called him a librarian.”

The pure bewilderment on Max’s face must have been a sight to see because as soon as Booker looked up from his coffee he laughed before clarifying. “Danny’s my boyfriend.”

Oh. _Oh._

Max stared for a moment before he found his voice again. “Your boyfriend?” He asked uncertainly.

“Mmhmm.” Booker hummed and looked over at Max with a smirk. “How’s that for Vancouver’s best kept secret?”

“Seriously…?” Max cracked a small grin. “You mean to tell me that nobody knows? What about your team?”

“Well Mitch and MacKinnon know now, they ran into Danny on one of their visits. Otherwise?” Booker shrugged. “I mean, pretty sure the nurses figured it out when Danny was spending just about every day at the hospital with me. Plus there were a few well-tipped baristas and waitresses last time around.”

“Last time?”

“We started dating when I first got traded here. Then things fell apart after a couple years and we did that whole trying to just be friends thing for a while, but we didn’t have too many friends in common and it was weird to hang out with just the two of us. I hadn’t spoken to him in almost a year when all this happened. But, hey, there’s nothing quite like a near death experience to win back your ex, am I right?”

Max winced slightly. Regardless of what Booker said, he still felt complete responsibility for almost killing him, and that wasn’t going to change any time soon. So he kept his eyes down and took a sip of his coffee while subconsciously reaching down and scratching behind Hercules’ ears. He could feel Booker’s eyes on him but he wasn’t about to meet his gaze. Whether that made him a coward or not, he didn’t really care at this point.

“Any updates on your suspension by the way?” Book asked after an extended silence.

Max smirked faintly before glancing up at him barely. “Something tells me you already know the answer to that one.”

“What makes you say that?

“Because I doubt there’s anyone else that would call to put in a good word on my behalf that they’d listen to,” Max replied with a knowing smile. “I appreciate it, by the way.”

“What was their final decision then?” Booker asked, watching him curiously.

“Technically, the league is lifting my suspension tomorrow.”

“Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming?” Booker said with a sigh.

“But our next two games are here,” Max said with a tight smile and a small nod. “I wanted to play, but coach told me not to bother showing up to the rink. He doesn’t want to cause any more problems than we have to.”

“Probably for the best, unfortunately. Last I heard Matty’s still out for blood, so you’re saving yourself the hassle of that at least.”

“What, you think I can’t take on Tkachuk?” Max said with a small laugh.

“No, I know you can take a hit. Just don’t think it’s too smart to take on both of them in your first game back when they’ve all but got a hit out on you is all,” Booker answered with a shrug.

“Never claimed I was smart,” Max said and smirked as he took a sip of his coffee.

“Oh I’m well aware. As far as I’m concerned, Hercules is the brains of this operation,” Booker said and nodded thoughtfully.

Max snorted and nodded in agreement. “Fair enough. God knows he’s the only one keeping my shit together. Don’t know how you do it.”

“For what it’s worth, I am definitely not keeping my shit together, that’s mostly Danny at this point,” Booker offered with a faint smile. “Plus, I don’t have much of a choice, do I? No days off and all that.” Max paused and looked up at him only to be greeted by a wink as Booker finished his coffee.

“You know about my book?” Max asked skeptically. It had come out a good fifteen years ago at least at this point. He didn’t expect anyone to be finding it in any bookstores these days.

“I’ll do you one better, I’ve read your book.”

“Where did you even find a copy?”

“Marner lent it to me. Couple seasons back we had a long stretch on the road and I’d finished the books I had with me,” Booker explained with a shrug. “It was a decent read.”

“Well thanks, I’m flattered,” Max said with a small smile. “Just how fast do you go through books anyways?” He wondered out loud.

Booker laughed slightly as he considered how long the average book took him to read. But then he started explaining all the different variables that affect his efficiency like how much down time he has or how many other books he’s reading at the time. Which set them off down an entirely different tangent about why some books are easier reads than others and why certain narration styles are simply painful to get through. Even though Max didn’t know much about the classics, it was fun to hear Booker’s thoughts. 

Distantly, he wondered why Booker would ever bother with hockey if he was that book smart, but he just brushed the thought aside. But it did remind him of Danny with his pseudo-librarian outfit, and it made him think that maybe on the inside, Booker was actually more like him than he was like any of his fellow hockey players. The thought made him smile. Booker was Vancouver’s best kept secret indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those with questions re: Danny's appearance: feel free to ignore my thoughts and come up with your own vision of him. Take creative liberties as readers, I don't mind.  
> But for the record, I picture him as a blend between Bergeron and John Tavares.  
> Also, side note, in this fic Hercules is Max Domi's service dog, because it is set well past Orion's retirement age.
> 
> And for those of you mainly here for the Danny/Booker fluff: hold onto your hats because next chapter will have plenty of their ridiculousness and fluff.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A healthy amount of bickering and celebration.

The next couple of weeks were relatively uneventful all things considered. Booker spent most of his time working on rebuilding his upper body strength and learning the basics of transfers in and out of the wheelchair on different surfaces. By the end of his second week, he was even able to dress himself in less than 25 minutes. And by the end of his third, he was finally allowed to shower by himself, without supervision. Overall his care team seemed impressed with his progress and agreed to discharge him a week earlier than planned.

In the meantime, Copley and Danny had each been busy in the apartment hunt and independently suggested the same building to Booker on the same day. So he had Danny go take a tour and report back. By the same time the next day, the lease was signed and Danny retrieved the keys. True to his word, Copley sent a team to move all of his furniture and personal belongings to the new place. And when Booker was finally given a date for when he could go home, Copley even sent a team to stock the fridge and pantry so that Danny and Booker wouldn’t have to go shopping right away.

Now the only thing that stood between Booker and a nice long nap on a real bed was Danny and his stubbornness. 

“Would you _please_ just let me help you?” Danny asked with an exasperated sigh.

“For the last time, I can get into the car on my own. If I needed help, I would ask for it, alright?” Booker snapped back.

Danny made a strangled noise at the back of his throat. “No, you wouldn’t! We both know you wouldn’t, so cut the shit.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this right now,” Booker muttered and ran a hand through his hair. He glanced around the parking lot and was relieved to find that there was no one in sight. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m being careful,” Danny corrected with a sigh. ”Fine, do it yourself,” he said, stepping out of the way and opening the passenger side door.

“Thank you,” Booker replied with a roll of his eyes as he repositioned himself alongside the car. He shifted to the edge of his chair and was about to make the transfer when he heard Danny clear his throat behind him. “What now?”

“Brakes,” Danny pointed out quietly. “I mean, unless you’re in the mood to fall flat on your face, that’s up to you.”

Fuck. He was right. “I was getting there,” Booker muttered instead before locking the brakes so the wheelchair wouldn’t roll out from under him. Once he was sure it was stable he made the move over to the car. It wasn’t his smoothest work, but he didn’t fall and that’s what matters.

After he pulled his legs in, Danny shut the door behind him before placing the wheelchair in the back seat. He climbed in the driver’s seat and handed Booker his phone once they were both buckled in. 

“Go ahead, you can be on aux for your freedom ride,” Danny said with a slight smirk.

Booker snorted. “You make me sound like some mutt you just broke out of the pound.”

“Are you not?” Danny asked as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed for Booker’s new apartment.

“Oh, shut up,” Booker mumbled as he scrolled through the playlists on Danny’s phone. He broke into a grin when he found the one he made for Danny a few years back and hit shuffle. 

“Mmm, good choice,” Danny hummed as Louis Armstrong’s voice rumbled through the speakers. Booker had always loved jazz and old school crooners since their inception in the twentieth century. He found them soothing and smooth, able to break through whatever fog he had in his head at any particular point in time.

“By the way, you’re probably going to want to rearrange the bookcases at some point. Looks like there’s no rhyme or reason as to the order the books got put back on the shelves,” Danny commented and Booker groaned. 

“Should’ve asked you to organize them before the movers came,” Booker said with a sigh. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll go through them with you later,” Danny promised with a nod.

Booker nodded along before pausing and glancing over at Danny suspiciously. “Wait, why do you know that?”

“I may or may not have stopped by earlier this week to check it out,” Danny said with a small sheepish smile.

“And you couldn’t just wait for today?”

“I also wanted to make sure they left enough space between furniture, which I know you told them about,” he said before Booker could cut in. “But I wanted to double check just in case.”

“You are such a micromanager, oh my god,” Booker chuckled and shook his head.

“Be careful what you say, I’m finally taller than you now. I could hide so much of your shit if I wanted to,” Danny pointed out.

“Hey! I never said it was a bad thing,” Booker replied with a small grin. “Glad somebody has their shit together.”

“Well one of us has to and it’s never going to be you, so,” Danny said with a smirk as he pulled into the parking garage.

“Well I’ve never had to before, so why start now, right?” Booker grinned as Danny parked.

Danny just snorted and got out of the car. He rounded the car to pull Booker’s chair out of the backseat and set it down within his reach before going back to the trunk to grab their bags.

“Here you go, hotshot, you can carry your own bag up,” Danny said and tossed Booker’s duffel bag to him as soon as he got the car door closed behind him. He caught it before it hit him in the face and he shot Danny a look that was suspiciously close to a pout before settling it in his lap and following Danny to the elevator.

“Just be glad I put your books and skates in my bag,” Danny said with a smirk before hitting the button for their floor.

“Because those were definitely worth saving,” Booker said under his breath and caught sight of Danny rolling his eyes. 

Danny led him to the end of the hall and Booker was a little relieved to see how far away the closest neighboring door was. He hated having neighbors, they were always just a little too nosy for his liking. Danny fished his keys out of his pocket before unlocking the door and pushing it open.

“Home, sweet home,” Danny mumbled as he stepped in and held the door for Booker who was close behind him.

“Could use some color,” Booker commented as he glanced around the kitchen that merged with the living room area. Practically everything seemed to be in grayscale, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, it was just a bit dull. He was about to go explore down the hall when something caught his eye on the kitchen table. Slowly he turned towards Danny who was doing a terrible job at hiding a grin.

“What’s that?”

“The finest bottle of sparkling grape juice that money can buy,” Danny said as he walked over and draped himself over Booker’s shoulders to wrap his arms around him and rest his chin on his shoulder.

“Welcome home, Book,” he murmured before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Booker broke into a grin and pulled Danny around in front of him so he could pull him into a kiss. As he broke away he rested his forehead against Danny’s and smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Danny said and snuck in a quick peck on his lips before straightening up again. “Now c’mon, I’ll give you the tour.”

So Booker followed Danny down one end of the hall to what Danny referred to as Booker’s bedroom, which earned him an eye roll and a light punch to the side from Booker. Bold of him to assume that Booker would let him sleep anywhere else for at least the first week. There was a spacious en suite bathroom that had both a shower and a bath. Down the other end of the hall was a smaller guest room, another bathroom, and what was likely meant to be a third bedroom, but had been turned into an exercise room complete with sets of weights, yoga mats, and resistance bands. He couldn’t have put this place together better if he had tried.

They ordered Thai food from a place down the street and over dinner they toasted to the new apartment and what was hopefully a new chapter in their lives. By the time they finished eating and Danny rose to do the few dishes they’d used, Booker was practically falling asleep at the table. 

“Go, get ready for bed. I’ll be there in a minute,” Danny said as he looked over at him from the sink. 

“You sure you don’t need help?” Booker asked as he stifled a yawn.

“Positive,” Danny reassured him. “Now go, before I have to peel you off the table.”

Booker didn’t even bother arguing; it had been a long day and he was too exhausted to care. He went back to their room and rummaged through his duffel bag until he produced a pair of sweatpants. He tossed them to the head of the bed before transferring over from his chair. As soon as he got settled on the edge of the bed he grabbed his pajama pants to get changed, only to find his knee bouncing as a muscle spasm worked its way up his calf.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered in annoyance before hauling his legs up onto the bed so that they’d at least be outstretched instead of being bent like they had been all day. He had neglected to stretch this morning because he was more focused on getting all of his stuff together to go home. He was just starting to debate whether it was even worth changing at all at this point when Danny appeared in the doorway.

“Would you like a hand?”

“Or a spare set of legs, whatever you’ve got handy,” Booker replied with a sigh as he flopped back onto the mattress with an arm thrown over his eyes. “I just want to sleep, is that too much to ask for?” He whined and he could hear Danny trying not to laugh at his dramatics. He shifted his arm and cracked an eye open to look at him. “Do I really have to change? Can’t I just sleep like this?”

“I’m not letting you sleep in jeans,” Danny sighed as he began unbuckling Booker’s belt.

“Why? You worried I’ll get uncomfortable?” Booker teased with a smirk.

“Oh, fuck off,” Danny muttered back but Booker could see the smile pulling at his lips. He sat on the end of the bed and began unlacing Booker’s sneakers. “Try not to kick me,” he said with a quick wink and Booker barked out a laugh.

“You’re an ass,” Booker declared as he tossed his sweatpants down to Danny after he had his sneakers and jeans off. Danny just snorted and finished pulling up Booker’s sweatpants before getting up to go find his own pajama pants. Booker sat up and tugged off his shirt before leaning back against the headboard, thankful that the spasms had finally worked themselves out. He shamelessly watched Danny strip down to his boxers before he tugged on a pair of flannel pants.

“Somebody’s been working out,” Booker commented as he swept his gaze over Danny’s shoulders and down his biceps and forearms. There was definitely some definition there that hadn’t been there the last time he’d seen Danny shirtless. Then again, it had been a few years.

“Well, yeah, I’ve got to keep up with you now, don’t I?”

“Right, because I totally care what you look like,” Booker said with a roll of his eyes.

“What if I shaved my head?” Danny replied with an arched eyebrow and a small grin.

Booker leveled him with a glare. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“Maybe grow out my beard, big and bushy like a mountain man. Would you still love me?” Danny teased as he climbed into bed next to him.

“Don’t push it,” Booker grumbled as he laid down next to him, rolling onto his stomach but keeping his head turned in Danny’s direction.

Danny just grinned as he shut off the lights before settling in next to Booker. Booker slung an arm around Danny’s midsection and pulled him closer. He let out a deep breath and melted into Danny’s warmth.

“Get some sleep, Book,” Danny murmured softly and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“ _Je t’aime, mon coeur,_ ” Booker breathed out softly as his eyes slipped shut.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am incredibly sorry for the delay in updating but this chapter gave me some trouble. Also, things are getting busy with work so I didn't have as much free time to write this past week. 
> 
> Please enjoy some wholesome Booker/Danny content and Booker & Max content.

As the days unfolded, Booker and Danny started to fall into step with one another and fell into an easy morning routine. Whoever got up first got the first shower, but also was responsible for starting the pot of coffee. Breakfast was every man for himself on weekdays, and they agreed to make breakfast together on the weekends, trading off who’s in charge of what they make. 

They’ve also learned what doesn’t work. For instance, Danny has woken up more than once to his dirty laundry getting thrown in his face from where Booker found it in the middle of the floor. Booker had also taken to tucking Danny’s shoes underneath tables and chairs and the edge of the couch to keep them out of his way and had already made Danny late for at least one meeting when he couldn’t find his dress shoes.

So by the time Friday morning rolled around, they were getting ever closer to being on the same page. Or at least that’s what Booker thought until he went to make the coffee that morning. He changed out the filter and opened the cabinet to grab the grounds, only for them to not be where they belonged. He frowned and nudged aside the scant other things on the bottom shelf to see if they just got pushed back until he noticed a very familiar bag sitting on the second shelf, a good three to four inches out of his reach.

“For fuck’s sake,” Booker muttered and sighed before resting his forehead on the edge of the counter for a moment. This was what he got for sleeping in yesterday and leaving Danny in charge of the coffee. Danny, who was just getting into the shower now and would not reappear for another 20 minutes, at least.

So Booker gave up and tossed some bread in the toaster before consulting the fridge for other beverage options. As he perused the shelves, the shine of a silver and blue can caught his attention and he broke into a small grin. Thank god Copley was about 20 years out of touch with his eating habits, because otherwise Danny never would’ve allowed it.

“Good morning,” Danny mumbled as he strolled in, planting a kiss on Booker’s cheek before going to make his usual bowl of cereal. Booker smirked as he finished off the last bite of his breakfast.

“Morning,” he replied before taking a sip of his coffee replacement. He saw Danny freeze at the sound of the can hitting the table. Booker managed to keep a straight face as Danny stopped in the middle of pouring his cereal and turned to look at him.

“Is that--Are you--” Danny started and stopped a few times and Booker could see the annoyance building on his face. “ _Please_ tell me you are not drinking Red Bull with breakfast,” he finally managed to get out as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Booker made and maintained direct eye contact as he took another sip. “Yep,” he answered, popping his lips on the “p” at the end.

“Why? You’re a grown-ass man, not an undergrad going through their quarter-life crisis, Christian!”

“Needed a caffeine kick,” Booker replied with a shrug and just kept watching Danny in amusement.

“So why not just make coffee like a normal person then?” 

“Well, see, I would have,” Booker started as he placed his plate in his lap and brought it over to the sink. “But somebody put the coffee grounds back on the wrong shelf. And I’ll give you a hint, it wasn’t the guy that can’t reach the second shelf,” Booker answered with a smirk before patting Danny’s arm. “Go ahead, make your sad, weak coffee. I won’t even complain about it today.”

Danny paled and glanced over at the open cabinet above the coffee maker and groaned when he saw what Booker meant. He leaned forward and let his head hit the cabinet in front of him with a soft thud, and even with most of his face hidden, Booker could tell that it was beet red.

“Don’t kick yourself too hard, I figure the Red Bull was punishment enough,” Booker said and lightly poked his side.

“I’m sorry,” Danny mumbled dejectedly and Booker sighed.

“It’s alright, I promise. You’re just stuck waiting for the coffee to brew now.” Booker reached over and stole a couple of pieces of cereal from Danny’s bowl and tossed them in his mouth before he scrunched his nose. “Could use some milk,” he advised. Danny swatted his hand away as he reached over to steal more.

“You already ate, stop stealing my breakfast,” Danny said before sliding his bowl back further on the counter and blocking Booker’s reach.

Booker was about to retaliate when his phone rang. Since he was here with Danny, that left about maybe three people in the world that could be calling him. Once he got it out of his pocket, he breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t the name of an immortal popping up.

“Hey Domes, how’s it going?” He answered and he saw Danny shoot him a look out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey Book,” Max replied. “What are you up to right this very moment?”

“Just terrorizing Danny, so, you know, nothing I can’t postpone ‘til later,” Booker said as he ducked to avoid Danny’s light smack to the back of his head. “Why? What’s up?”

“Can you be ready to go out in like 20 minutes?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Booker said slowly. “Where are we going?”

“If I tell you, it’ll ruin the surprise. I’ll meet you out front. Dress warm. 20 minutes, Book. Bye.” And with that the call ended and Booker must’ve looked lost because Danny was staring at him in confusion.

“What was that all about?”

“I’m not really sure? But apparently I’m going out with Max, but he didn’t say where or how long it’ll be so I guess I’ll just check in with you later?” Booker replied with a shrug.

“Alright then, have fun. Call if you need anything, yeah?”

“Will do,” Booker said with a nod and gave him a thumbs up over his shoulder as he headed back to the bedroom in search of warmer clothes.

Fifteen minutes later Booker found himself just inside the front door of his building waiting for Max. As soon as he took out his phone to check the time, a Dodge Charger pulled into the drop off area and beeped. Sure enough, there was Max and, if the shadow in the back seat was any clue, Hercules. As he approached the car, Max hopped out to open the back door.

“What, is the Rover in the shop?” Booker joked and earned an eye roll from Max.

“Shut up,” Max replied but he was still smiling so Booker didn’t take it too personally.

He hauled himself into the passenger seat and Max tucked his wheelchair in the back seat next to Hercules before returning to the driver’s seat. As soon as he started the car again, Booker practically groaned as Max’s music flooded the car. It wasn’t that Booker had anything against hip-hop as a genre, in fact he found rap to be particularly interesting as an art form. He just disliked the way that people like Max listened to it with the volume up unreasonably loud and the bass cranked so high that Booker could feel his ribs rattling in his chest. Max finally took pity on him after a few songs and lowered the volume.

“So, do I get to ask where we are going yet, or is it still a surprise?” Booker asked as he eyed Max curiously.

“Still a surprise.”

“Uh huh. And how long are we going to be gone?”

“That’s really going to depend on how much you love or hate the surprise,” Max said with a small grin as he glanced over at Booker.

“Well that sounds promising,” Booker sighed. “If I end up not liking the surprise, you buy the next round of coffee, yeah?”

“And if you do like the surprise?” Max countered.

“Then I’ll buy you a six pack of your choice next time you come over.”

Max considered this before nodding. “Alright, deal.”

Ten minutes later when Max pulled off the main road and into a parking lot, Booker actively tried to ignore the largest building in the plaza. But luck wasn’t on his side as Max pulled up and parked right outside the door to the local skating rink. 

Booker pursed his lips and forced himself to take a deep breath. He kept his gaze straight ahead and didn’t even consider looking at Max. 

“What are we doing here, Max?” He asked quietly and he could hear the exhaustion in his own voice. 

“Just come inside and hear me out. If you don’t like what I have to say, we can turn right around and leave, no questions asked, alright?” He could feel Max’s eyes on him, waiting for an answer. He knew he could say no and that Max would bring him home without too much arguing, but he was curious as to what Max seemed to think he could gain from this. 

Booker glanced over at him and sighed. He scrubbed a hand down his face before nodding barely. “Yeah, alright. You’ve got ten minutes from the time we go through those doors to sell me your pitch.”

He could practically feel Max’s nervous energy melt away as he broke into a grin. “Deal,” he said before hopping out of the car and Booker had a sinking feeling he might regret this. 

Once Booker had gotten out of the car, he glanced back at Max and frowned when he saw him carrying what looked like the equivalent of two hockey bags. “What the hell are you going to need those for?”

“You’ll see,” is all Max would say before leading the way into the rink with Booker and Hercules close behind. It was clear Max had been here before as he led Booker through the lobby and down the hall towards the locker rooms and the ice. It was obvious that a game or a practice had just ended, judging by the number of voices coming from the locker rooms up ahead. But when the group of guys, who were presumably the players, started filing out of the locker room and heading for the parking lot, Booker stopped short. His brow furrowed as he glanced between them.

“They’re all…” he said quietly and trailed off. _Like me,_ his brain supplied as he watched the other wheelchair users and amputees pass by him. He was distracted enough that he hadn’t even noticed Max reappear by his side.

“This is the only sled hockey compatible rink in Vancouver,” Max said. “Next closest one is about an hour outside the city.”

“Is that what this is all about?” Booker asked as he glanced up at Max.

“More or less,” he replied with a shrug. “It’s mostly about getting you back on the ice. But only if you want to, of course,” Max was quick to amend. “Either way, we’ve got the ice to ourselves the rest of the afternoon.”

Booker nodded barely as he considered it. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and glanced up at Max, who was watching him with the hopeful expression of a kid outside a candy store.

He swallowed hard before nodding a bit more firmly. “Yeah, alright.”

“Yeah?” Max confirmed with a grin and his face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Yeah,” Booker agreed with a soft chuckle, unable to escape from Max’s infectious excitement. “Now come on before I change my mind.”

Max led the way around the ice and stopped behind one of the benches. Booker was surprised to see that the ice extended past the boards and even past the bench. Max must’ve caught on to his confusion and explained as he started unpacking one of the bags he brought.

“Skate on, skate off, it’s even with the ice on the rink so you don’t have to worry about getting caught on any thresholds or lips or anything. Having ice back here next to the rubber makes it easier to get into sleds without worrying about wheelchairs or prosthetics slipping on the ice and everything.”

“Somebody did their homework,” Booker commented with a slight grin, only for Max to throw a glove at his face.

“I came in here thinking I was going to have to spend half an hour convincing you not to just leave. Not my fault you caved early,” Max replied with a smirk. “Here, can’t call it hockey unless you’ve got a sweater,” he added and tossed a jersey to Booker. Booker uncrumpled the ball to see it was a Leafs jersey and just laughed.

“Making me wear the colors of my last opponent? Oh, that’s just cold.”

Max let out a laugh and shook his head. “Shut the fuck up and flip it over, genius.”

Booker rolled his eyes but did as he was told and smoothed the shirt out on his lap. As he looked it over his expression softened and he let out a low whistle.

“Where’d you dig up one of these, the National Archives?” Booker muttered as his fingers lightly traced over the letters of his name. He hadn’t seen it on a Leafs jersey since his rookie season. Now that was a throwback. He hesitated a moment before pulling it on over his head.

“Something like that,” Max replied as he tossed the mostly empty bag to the side and unzipped the other one, pulling out what Booker could only assume was a hockey sled. It seemed pretty straightforward with a metal frame, blades on the bottom, and a seat made of hard plastic.

“Now this, you owe me for,” Max said as he set it down. “Took fucking forever to get one to accommodate your long-ass legs.”

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” Booker said with a smirk as he looked it over. The sled itself didn’t seem particularly sturdy, but it was incredibly low to the ground meaning that if he did fall, well, there wasn’t too far to go.

As if sensing his hesitance, Max cleared his throat. “I can hold it steady if that’s what you’re worried about. Promise I won’t let you just eat shit right off the bat.”

Booker nodded slightly. “Probably a good idea,” he agreed and relaxed a bit when Max held the frame even for him. The transfer to the sled wasn’t his most graceful moment of the day, but after some shifting and readjusting, he settled in pretty well. Max handed him elbow pads and gloves to pull on while he secured the straps around Booker’s legs. 

“This really all they wear for pads?” Booker asked skeptically and Max shook his head. 

“Not at all, they wear basically everything we do. I just promised Danny I wouldn’t let you go out there with nothing on,” he said with a sheepish smile. “Speaking of which,” Max said as he pulled a helmet from his bag and handed it to Booker. “Not about to be responsible for you taking a header off the ice again.”

Booker’s eyes narrowed. “Danny was in on this too?”

“How else was I supposed to get your measurements to get the sled made?” Max replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Fair enough,” Booker sighed and reluctantly pulled the helmet on. 

“If we were going to be playing contact, I would’ve made you suit up all the way. But since we’re just skating and maybe shooting a couple pucks, I figure you’ve got all you need for now,” Max added with a shrug. Now that Booker was squared away, Max pulled his skates out of the bag and started lacing up. 

“So if Danny was in on this, does that mean you were in on the coffee issue too? Or was that just Danny fucking up all on his own?” Booker asked with a smirk. Judging by the confusion on Max’s face, it was safe to say it was the latter.

“Alright, I won’t hold that one against you then,” Booker concluded with a sigh.

“Not even gonna ask,” Max mumbled as he fished what looked like two kid-sized hockey sticks from the bag and handed them to Booker.

“Obviously the blade is for handling the puck, same as regular hockey, except you get two. Other ends have metal picks to get traction on the ice. Just dig them in and push and you’ll be on your way,” Max explained as he straightened up. He waved Booker towards the door to the ice. “Age before beauty,” he said with a grin and barked out a laugh when Booker used a stick to smack him off the thigh.

“What ever happened to respecting your elders, huh?” Booker said as he shook his head before digging the picks into the ice like Max had told him and giving a good shove off the ice. It took a couple of tries to get the spacing right in relation to the sled, but he got the hang of it and met up with Max at center ice.

To start it was clumsy and a bit awkward, but once Booker got the feel for it, being back on the ice was liberating. He found that the sled could pick up a surprising amount of speed; he felt like he was flying. For a while, they passed the time with Booker chasing Max around the rink to practice turns and stops and, inevitably, how to get himself upright again in the off chance he tipped over. Once Booker was able to more or less keep up, Max grabbed a beat up hockey stick from behind the bench and a bucket of pucks. They practiced handling the puck, passing, and shooting and Booker found all of them considerably more difficult than he expected. 

By the time the rink was closing for the evening, Booker was confident he wanted to come back and give it another try, much to Max’s delight. They agreed to give it another go next time Max was in town, which would be the following week if the Stanley Cup finals went more than four games. Admittedly, Booker was hoping it would, because he had money riding on the Canucks winning in seven. Either way, Max would be back in town soon enough and in the meantime Booker could always call the rink and book ice time just for himself if he really wanted to. Who knows, maybe he’d even convince Danny to come with him some time.

As excited as he was to come back, Booker was partially regretting spending so long on the ice today. He could feel the ache starting in his shoulders as he and Max piled into the car to head home. By the time Max dropped him off at his building and Booker made it up to his apartment, he was exhausted. He considered just going to bed, but thought better of it. Danny would kill him if he got into bed smelling this gross. But at the same time, he couldn’t find the energy in him to shower just yet, so he settled for sprawling out on the couch instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you here for the fluff, I promise you will enjoy the next chapter immensely.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter of Booker and Danny addressing their insecurities? In my fic? It's more likely than you think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! Sorry for the delay, things have been getting crazy at work so I haven't had as much free time to write. I also have 3 other WIPs that I've been giving some attention to so I'm a little all over the place.

Booker woke up some time later to the feeling of Danny’s fingers running through his hair and he immediately melted under his touch. 

“Tough day?” Danny asked quietly somewhere above him and Booker just nodded tiredly before reaching out for him blindly and eventually setting his hand on Danny’s knee. He just needed to be closer and, well, he’d take what he could get as long as it meant not moving. Danny let out a soft chuckle before resting his other hand on top of Book’s.

“Did you at least have fun?” Danny prompted as he massaged Booker’s scalp and god it felt so good he had to bite back a soft moan.

“ _Oui, passa bien,_ ” Booker mumbled through a yawn and he heard Danny laugh.

“Wow, too tired to bother translating? It’s no wonder you only made it to the couch,” Danny teased back in French before giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Come on, time to get up, the couch is no place to spend the night.”

Booker just grunted and buried his face further into the cushions. Moving from the couch felt as attractive as climbing Everest at this point.

“I will not hesitate to drag you to bed if I have to, Christian,” Danny warned and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, then you can sleep all you want, alright?”

As much as Booker hated to admit it, he knew that Danny was right. Even he was a little grossed out by how sweaty he smelled and he knew Danny hated it as well. So he blinked his eyes open a crack to glance up at him briefly before sitting up with a groan. “I’m getting too old for this,” he muttered under his breath and shot a half hearted glare at Danny when he snorted.

“No offense, my love, but you already are too old for this. It’s what you get for trying to keep up with the younger players,” Danny murmured and leaned over the back of the couch to kiss Booker’s cheek. At the same time he snaked his hands up to Book’s shoulders to start massaging them.

“I resent that,” Booker muttered but it failed to hit its mark when it was followed by a deep sigh when Danny’s hands started working out the tension in his shoulders and back.

“Mmhmm,” Danny hummed, unconvinced. “I’ll run you a bath and then we can go to bed, alright?” He murmured before pressing a kiss to the corner of Booker’s jaw. Booker practically whined at the loss of contact when Danny stepped away to go start the water for the bath. He sat there for a while, debating the pros and cons of just going back to sleep on the couch before sighing and giving in. He was already sore and sleeping on the couch certainly wasn’t going to help that. He frowned when he felt his shoulder twinge as he transferred over to the wheelchair. That was going to be a bitch in the morning. 

By the time Booker got to the bathroom, the tub was just about full and Danny had stripped down to his boxers. He arched an eyebrow and glanced at him before he started shedding all of his layers from earlier.

“So I take it you’ll be joining me for this one?” Booker asked conversationally as he untied his boots. 

“Only if you want me to,” Danny replied as he shut off the tap. 

“Well that’s not much of an answer. Were you planning to?” Booker asked and watched Danny carefully, sensing his hesitation. 

Danny pursed his lips and sighed. “I don’t want to overstep,” he said quietly. 

“That’s not an answer either,” Booker pointed out. “But for what it’s worth, I’m not sure there’s anything that you could do that would be considered overstepping.”

Danny made a pained expression and Booker sighed. “Help me get out of these jeans then get your ass in the tub.”

Danny seemed to relax a little and did just that, stripping Booker down before shedding his own boxers and climbing into the tub. Booker soon followed and practically melted at the perfect warmth of the water. As soon as he began to settle in, Danny wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him back until Booker’s back was flush against Danny’s chest. He let his head loll back against Danny’s shoulder and nuzzled his face into the crook of his neck. He pressed lazy kisses to his collarbone and neck while Danny ran a washcloth up his arms and over his chest. 

Booker must’ve started dozing off again because the next thing he knew Danny was squeezing his bicep and speaking in his ear but the only thing Booker could focus on was how cool the water had gotten.

“Are you awake, babe?” Danny was asking him and Booker let out a sigh before nodding barely and sitting up straighter so he was less slumped against Danny.

“Excellent,” Danny murmured and kissed his cheek before carefully extracting himself from the tub and grabbing their towels. Normally Booker would be annoyed with Danny for helping him with something without asking first, but he was so bone-tired and sore that he was nothing but grateful when Danny helped him out of the still draining tub before starting to dry off. By the time he finished drying off, Danny had taken out pajamas for the two of them and was getting changed. Booker pulled on a pair of boxers before just climbing into bed, leaving his henley and sweatpants abandoned at the foot of the bed as he pulled the blanket up to his chin.

“You’re gonna be cold,” Danny warned with a sigh.

“Only if my space heater doesn’t hurry up and get in bed,” Booker replied through a yawn.

“Ah, I see how it is. Why bother getting dressed when you’ve got a boyfriend to keep you warm,” Danny said with a smirk before hitting the lights and joining Booker under the covers.

“See? You’re catching on,” Booker said sleepily before kissing Danny’s cheek.

“Mmhmm,” Danny hummed as he shifted and pulled Booker closer until they were spooning with Danny’s arm wrapped snug around his ribcage. “Goodnight, _mon amour_ ,” Danny mumbled softly before pressing a soft kiss to the pale scar on the back of Booker’s neck.

\----------------------------------------------

When Danny woke the next morning, even his bleary eyes could tell that the clock on the nightstand said it was well past ten and closing in on eleven in the morning. A perfect start to the weekend, for sure. He rolled over to face Booker, careful not to get too tangled in the sheets, only to find him flat on his stomach and his head turned the opposite direction. He leaned over and pressed a lazy kiss to the top of Book’s shoulder and snuggled up to his side. 

“C’mon sleeping beauty, the day is wasting away. Time to get up,” he mumbled softly into his skin. He was met with a soft groan as Booker turned his head so he was facedown in the pillow.

“Let’s go, you can squeeze the oranges and I can make pancakes and bacon? Or I can make omelets if you want. Up to you,” Danny suggested as he poked at Booker’s elbow that was sticking out from under the pillow. 

“Not hungry,” Booker replied, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Danny frowned and sat up from where he’d been reclining on an elbow. “You’ve got to be hungry, we skipped dinner and went to bed when I got home last night. Plus I’m pretty sure the only thing I saw you consume yesterday was toast and Red Bull, which is obviously not ideal.”

“You can eat, I’m not hungry,” Booker repeated.

“At least join me for coffee?” Danny tried again.

“I’ll make some later,” Booker muttered under his breath and Danny’s frown deepened as he ran a hand through his hair. Danny sat there a long moment, running through last night’s interactions and what he’d said so far this morning, but he couldn’t think of anything to explain Booker’s sour mood. 

“Did I do something wrong?” Danny asked quietly, because quite frankly he was at a loss here. Booker sighed next to him and seemed to shake his head, but it was hard to tell against the pillow. 

“Can you please at least just look at me?” He questioned, getting a bit desperate to get a read on Booker. Danny wanted to reach out and just wrap him in a hug or play with his hair or anything really, but the tension that had grown in the air between them stopped him from doing anything more than wrapping his arms around himself instead. 

For a moment he wondered if Booker had even heard him, or if he was ignoring him outright, but then he turned to look at Danny and the look on his face broke Danny’s heart. Booker’s eyes were pink and swollen, glassy with unshed tears. He also looked like he hadn’t slept most of the night and the thought turned Danny’s stomach.

“Book…” Danny said softly as he sunk down into the pillow next to him. He instinctively reached out and cupped Booker’s jaw, lightly running his thumb over his cheekbone. And though he’d never admit it, Danny’s heart melted a little when Booker closed his eyes and leaned into his touch.

“Hey, what’s going on? I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,” Danny prompted gently.

“Just,” Booker paused with a frown before letting out a sigh. “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Mmhmm,” Danny hummed and slid his hand back into Booker’s hair, carding his fingers through it gently. He knew that given the opportunity Booker would leave it at that, an open and shut case of sleep deprivation. But Danny knew better than to take his first answer as his final answer, because Booker had a way of brushing things aside unless someone else forced him to elaborate. So he summoned all the patience that he usually only had for anxious first-years that showed up to his office in tears and persisted.

“I know you were exhausted, so it’s not that you just weren’t tired. What kept you from sleeping?”

Booker’s expression was pinched, even as he cracked his eyes back open. He pointedly did not make eye contact with Danny, instead staring blankly at the sheets between them.

“Come on, you can tell me what happened,” Danny soothed as he smoothed back Booker’s hair. “You know that all I want is to help make it better,” he reassured him. 

When they first started dating, it had taken Booker nearly a year to open up enough to admit that he was always worried about the people around him having ulterior motives. After many late-night impromptu therapy sessions between the two of them, Booker had finally admitted that he had this intrinsic fear of others seeing him as weak or worthless and he was scared of proving them right. That’s why he built so many walls around himself--if no one knew what he was feeling or if he was hurting, then they couldn’t accuse him of being the weak link. And now Danny found himself trying to scale those exact walls once again.

Finally Booker shifted and let out a shaky breath. “I woke up because I had a muscle spasm in my back. Usually it just goes away after a few minutes, but this time it just kept going and felt like it was never going to end. Now it just fucking hurts.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Danny asked, trying his best not to sound too upset.

“You needed sleep too,” Booker replies, as if that were obvious.

“Still should’ve woken me up. Don’t like the idea of you being in pain, especially alone,” Danny murmured and leaned in to kiss his cheek before getting up and rounding the bed to rummage through Booker’s night stand. Booker turned to look at him only to roll his eyes when he saw Danny pulling out various bottles of pills one at a time. Danny paused when he grabbed one that seemed to still be full, and then he spotted another. As he read the labels he let his eyes close as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Booker, please tell me you haven’t been skipping out on your meds.”

Booker hesitated. “Not the important ones.”

Danny groaned and let his eyes look skyward, looking for what, he didn’t know. Maybe some divine intervention before he strangled his boyfriend.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Danny muttered as he set the bottles of painkillers and antispastics on top of the nightstand. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to take both of these and then we’re going to talk about why you haven’t been taking them, in that order, non-negotiable.”

“I don’t want to take them,” Booker said with a sigh.

“Not. Negotiable. Now sit up, come one,” Danny said and offered Booker his hands. Booker reluctantly rolled onto his back with a wince and took a moment to gather himself before taking Danny’s hands and letting himself be pulled upright. Danny shook out the pills into his hand before grabbing Booker’s water bottle of the night stand and holding them out to him.

Once Booker did as he asked, Danny set the water bottle back on the nightstand before crawling back into bed, only this time sitting between Booker and the headboard. He grabbed his pillow and held it against his chest before gently guiding Booker back down to lie against him. Danny carefully looped his arms around him so that his hands rested on either side of Booker’s chest and his thumb lightly skimmed along the side of his ribcage. Danny let out a shaky sigh.

“So, would you like to tell me why you haven’t been taking half of your meds?”

“I don’t need them,” Booker mumbled back. Danny just paused before leaning over to look at Booker, whose head was resting against his abdomen.

“Okay, I think we can both agree that after last night, that is clearly not true,” Danny replied, trying to find what was left of his patience. “Would you like to try again?”

Booker frowned. “I don’t like how they make me feel. The antispastics make me tired and make my head all fuzzy, like I can’t focus.”

“Okay, that’s fair enough,” Danny conceded. “What about the painkillers? If you’re hurting enough to cry, that’s got to be a good enough reason to take them.”

Booker shook his head adamantly. “I don’t want them,” he repeated and Danny could feel his patience running thin. 

“Why? Because you think toughing it out is better somehow?”

“No, I just,” Booker paused and gave a frustrated sigh before pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I don’t want to get used to them.”

Danny frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t want to rely on them.”

Danny froze as it clicked in his head. Shit. Of course. He should have seen this coming. He must’ve stayed silent longer than he thought because next thing he knew, Booker was giving a dejected sigh followed by a dark chuckle. “That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

“Hey, no,” Danny interrupted and poked him in the side. “I’m sorry I hadn’t thought about it that way. But, Book, you’ve come a long way and I’m not too worried about you abusing them. But, if you’re still worried about it, I can hold onto them for you? And that way I can help when you need something more than Motrin and you don’t need to be anxious about the frequency with which you take them.”

Booker stayed quiet for a moment before slowly nodding and letting his arms fall back to his sides. “Okay,” he answered softly. 

“Okay,” Danny replied before leaning over and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You feeling any better?”

Booker nodded again and took one of Danny’s hands in his own, interlocking their fingers. “Much. Not nauseous anymore so that’s an improvement.”

“That’s good,” Danny agreed and squeezed his hand lightly. “If I made pancakes would you have some? Or do you want to try and go back to sleep?”

“Sleep,” Booker answered almost immediately and Danny nodded, reaching over to his nightstand and grabbing a book.

“Alright, get some rest, I’ll make sure you’re up early enough to eat before game time,” Danny said as he found his page in his book before wrapping his free arm around Booker again.

\----------------------------------------

It was a week later when Danny and Booker found themselves curled up on the couch, watching the post-game recap of game six of the Stanley Cup finals. Booker was thrilled for a few reasons, mainly that the Canucks had won and kept the dream of winning the cup alive, but also because he made a bet with Max that they’d win in seven games, a bet which he now had a decent chance at winning. He and Danny were leaning against each other, sides pressed up against each other, and Booker had his arms wrapped tight around Danny’s waist while Danny draped an arm over his shoulders.

Booker sighed contentedly as he rested his head against Danny’s chest. He hesitated barely before speaking up softly. “You should come to game seven with me.”

He could feel Danny tense beside him and he glanced up to get a read on his face. Danny looked back at him with a furrowed brow. “What was that?”

“Come to game seven with me,” Booker repeated, although this time it sounded less like a suggestion and more like a plea. Danny frowned faintly and fell quiet for the moment.

“Why don’t you just go with Domi? He’s already going, isn’t he?” Danny suggested and now it was Booker’s turn to frown.

“Because I don’t want to go with Max, I want to go with you,” Booker said quietly as he looked up at him with sad puppy eyes. And he meant it. He wanted to share that experience with Danny and no one else. Danny almost looked pained as he looked away from Booker and considered it. “Please?”

Danny worried at his bottom lip and still refused to meet his gaze. “Can we not just watch from home like we have for the rest of the games?”

“Danny, come on, it’s game seven! You’ve never said no to coming to my games before, what’s the big deal?” 

“Because this isn’t just one of your games, Book!” Danny snapped.

Booker paused before pulling away from Danny, shifting to face him more directly. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean it’s different now and you know that. I’m not going to get to see you play, and you’re going to attract a lot more attention than usual which we both know will be uncomfortable at best, and you’re going to want to hang out with the guys before and after the game but I’m not allowed in the locker room, and we can’t exactly blend in with the crowd if you don’t want to be seen with me so I really don’t see the point here—“

“Hey, wait a minute, slow down,” Booker cut in to stop Danny’s rambling. He reached over and took Danny’s hands in his own and gave them a light squeeze.

“Take a deep breath, okay?” Booker said and noisily inhaled and exhaled a couple times until Danny copied him.

“What makes you think that I don’t want to be seen with you?”

“Because that’s how it’s always been. Yeah, maybe we’d drive there together but then I wouldn’t get to talk to you again until you got home after the game. But within those walls? I don’t exist in your mind. And that’s fine, you had more important things to do, more important people to talk to, I get it. But, I can’t go in there again and pretend that we’re anything other than what we are. I can’t play the role of an old college friend or whoever it is you told people I was to get me into games. I’m not doing that again,” Danny’s voice broke and his lip was quivering the way it did whenever he got anxious or upset. Booker hated his ability to put that look on Danny’s face. 

“I’m not asking you to,” Booker said gently. “Like you said, it’s different now. We’re never going back to that, okay? I promise, I’ll never ask that of you ever again,” he murmured before lifting up one of Danny’s hands and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. 

“I’m sorry that I made you feel unimportant. You don’t deserve that; you never deserved that,” Booker said with a sigh before wrapping an arm around Danny’s shoulders and pulling him close, pressing a kiss to his temple. He relaxed barely when he felt some of the tension melt from Danny’s shoulders. 

“As for the rest of that? You’re crazy if you think I’m going anywhere without you. I don’t give a shit where you technically are and are not allowed to go, you’re coming with me. How else am I supposed to show off my perfect boyfriend?” Booker added with a wry smile and snuck a peck on Danny’s cheek. There was a pause and Booker was worried that maybe he was pushing it. 

“I think you missed,” Danny murmured back quietly, trying to stifle the sound of a sniffle. Booker’s eyebrows shot up as he broke into a smile, looking down at where Danny’s head was resting against his chest. 

“Oh, did I?”

“Mmhmm,” Danny hummed and nodded, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he looked up at Booker. 

“Well, we can’t have that now can we?” Booker mumbled before cupping Danny’s jaw and lifting his face up to give him a proper kiss. When he pulled away a moment later, Danny seemed far more at ease than he had been moments earlier and Booker counted that as a win for both of them.

“So does that mean you’ll come with me?”

“Maybe. One question. Do you think I could get my favorite player to sign a shirt for me?”

“I think that could be arranged,” Booker said with a grin. Danny let out a sigh of relief and when he looked at Booker, there was a shine of mischief in his eyes.

“Thank god. And here I was worried you wouldn’t let me talk to MacKinnon again.”

“ _Hey!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silly Booker, how dare you assume you're Danny's favorite.
> 
> Jokes aside, I promise there will be some good Nile content next chapter.   
> Thank you to anyone that's sticking around!

**Author's Note:**

> Please come talk to me on tumblr!  
> I can be found @transeliot and I'd love to hear your thoughts!


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